


Meet the Kin - A Twisted Tale of Christmas

by Skyesurfer12



Series: The Kin series [1]
Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:59:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 72,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyesurfer12/pseuds/Skyesurfer12





	1. Chapter One

Meet the Kin - a Twisted Tale of Christmas

Christmas Eve will find me  
Where the love light gleams  
I’ll be home for Christmas  
If only in my dreams 

\- Kim Gannon, Walter Kent, 1943

-x-

Burbank Buy More  
19 December 2008  
10:17 am PST 

Chuck Bartowski slumped down in his chair behind the Herder desk, indignation making him pretend to ignore the signal. In retrospect, he should’ve seen it coming. 

The kid knew that the days spent working at the Buy More and as the government’s human database slash overall plaything at large could be ranked as ‘Low’, ‘Stinking Low’, and ‘I’m Going to Die Today Low’, without a lot of variation in those categories. No doubt, Chuck had accepted the queasy realization; spies and lies were his life now. 

Still, this bland Wednesday morning had felt different. Lighter. Six days before Christmas, and not a single weapons dealer or nuclear armed nutcase had caused a migraine-inducing flash. There was not a lick of Uncle Sam’s dirty work on the horizon. When he climbed out of bed, he actually had a niggling feeling that he was almost a normal guy today. Even felt a sliver of hope darting under his skin.

But as always, that was a colossal mistake. It started on cue, when Casey did that demeaning hand motion of his, curling his fingers in a sign to move his ass, accompanied by a tilt of his head towards the sliding doors at the front of the store. 

God, no. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. The General had informed Team Bartowski that they had earned some downtime for the holiday – and she had ordered them to take it. Hell, even Casey – who Chuck suspected was half robotic engineering and gears under his flesh – had begrudgingly put in for seven whole days of leave, ‘recreation and relief’, telling Sarah and Chuck it was none of their damn business where he was going. Butt the fuck out. With that, it was understood that Sarah would have primary oversight – the care and feeding of the asset – during Casey’s peculiar holiday absence and their mandatory break from missions. 

Whatever. A month ago, the kid would’ve been ecstatic at that opportunity to spend time alone with the blonde CIA agent, but his hopes on that messy and tenuous battlefront had come crashing down around him. The awkward and light years out of his league bond with Sarah Walker had finally churned to a dead end in a place that they both could accept. The ‘Let’s Be Friends’ stage of the relationship, which was the stage that came right after the ‘I screwed (up) with Jill Roberts Before We Discovered She was also a Whore for Fulcrum’ phase. 

Well, that sealed the deal. The relationship ended on a handshake and a peck on the cheek. A promise that they could act their parts for the job. The bogus thing under the fake cover between Chuck and Sarah was over.

Chuck sighed and picked up a work order, trying to focus on a Windows upgrade he had to install for some poor schlep before he could clock out for lunch. It was at that moment, out of the corner of his eye, when he had caught sight of Casey’s hand signal. To top it off, the NSA agent looked pissed that Chuck wasn’t obeying fast enough for his liking. 

“I said, move your ass,” Casey mouthed from the doorway. The humiliating ‘now’ motion was repeated with a snap of his fingers.

Chuck forced himself not to give him one of his own signals. He knew Casey had a foul temper, and the kid was going to need that middle finger after this to finish the install. 

Three minutes and a dozen irritating nudges later, Casey had steered him through the crowded parking lot and down the stairs of the yogurt shop. Sarah was already waiting there, leaning against the table with her arms folded over her chest. When the steel door whispered open, she looked up at them and gave Chuck a nod and a quiet smile. 

“Hey, Sarah, I – ow!” 

Casey smothered any banter by grabbing the kid just between the shoulder and neck, hauling him down the stairs, and shoving him into one of the seats at the conference table. “Sit.”

“Was that really necessary, Casey? Geez.” Chuck glared at the larger man, kneading the side of his neck. “I could’ve managed to find the way here on my own.” 

“Sorry, Chuck.” Glancing past him, Sarah scowled at Casey for the manhandling of their asset. “I would’ve texted you to let you know there’s a meeting with Washington, but Casey was already at the Buy More.” 

“You know what?” Chuck said, turning to Casey. “I’m going to forgive you for your lack of verbal tendencies this time, because let’s face it: being raised by a feral pack of dogs impeded your communication skills.” Chuck stretched out his legs under the table, eyeing the agent suspiciously and added under his breath, “It would explain a lot of things, actually.”

Casey grunted, this one flavored with ‘Can it, Bartowski.’

Chuck opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it, not certain how one disputed a guttural noise. Leaning back in the rolling chair, he turned to Sarah and put his feet up on the desk. “I’m not going to let him ruin my mojo. This time tomorrow, no missions, no terrifying brushes with death … it will be just a normal life. Movie marathons, video games until my eyes bleed, pizza boxes up to the ceiling –”

“Which can only mean Ellie and Devon caught their flight this morning?” Sarah asked.

“Yep. Let the games begin.” Chuck grinned up at her but his smile faded a little. “And of course, I’m upset about that – Ellie going to Connecticut this year to have an Awesome Christmas instead of being home … but, I have to say, a week of –”

“Let me guess, Bartowski. A week without listening to your big sister telling you nicely to get off your skinny duff and do something with your life? A week of kiddy games with Moron and soul searching discussions on the art of cheat codes has you giggly?” 

Chuck tilted his head at the NSA agent. “You’re in a good mood today,” he said warily, gauging his look. “I can hear your Christmas joy hidden between the cruel insinuations and ridicule, which means wherever you’re headed has to be –”

“Stuff it or I will.”

Sensing he would be true to his word, Chuck glanced down at the agent’s worn boots and artfully backtracked the conversation. “What I was going to say is that I’m looking forward to a week of independence. Time on my own.” The kid mulled it over as he stared ahead into the dozens of video feeds in HD detail, relaying from strategically placed monitors at Buy More and his sister’s apartment. “Well,” Chuck huffed at the annoying reminders. “As much as one can be under constant government surveillance. Now, can someone explain to me why we’re here? Does ‘time off for the holiday’ ring any bells?”

Casey shrugged and moved closer to the wall monitor, thumb tucked in his belt and looking as bad ass as one could decked out in Buy More green. “Beckman wants to see us,” he said. “And she told me to bring the asset.” He smirked at Chuck.

Oh, not good. Whenever she referred to him in that way, it could only mean his life was going to take another nose dive straight into the –

“Good morning, team.” Beckman’s stern face, capped off by a prim red bun that never moved, flicked to the screen. Her sudden appearance made Casey snap around with a slight shift in his shoulders, while Sarah circled the table to stand to his right. The kid stayed seated, leaning back in the chair, frowning at the monitor. He did have the decency to bring his feet down from the table, since her undercurrent of displeasure the last time it happened was palpable. “I see you brought the –”

Crap. Here it comes.

“– asset. Let’s get started, shall we.”

“General, what is this about?” Casey looked away from the screen only long enough to exchange a speculative glimpse with Sarah. “Yesterday, we were under orders to take some leave time.”

“And you still are, Major.” She gave him a sharp stare. “There has been a modification to your plans, however, Agent Walker.” Beckman turned her focus to the CIA agent. “It will affect Bartowski as well, so I brought the team together for this conference.”

“A modification?” Sarah questioned before Chuck could chime in and get them all in trouble with her. “Is there a mission, ma’am?”

“For you, yes, Sarah.” The General leaned on her desk, paying no mind to the male members of Team Bartowski for the moment. “Two years ago, you completed an assignment that involved a representative of Syria. A man who was in good standing with our government. He provided a wealth of Intel that diverted an attack on our Fifth Fleet Headquarters in Bahrain,” she said. “You were key to that success, Agent Walker. I understand you became very close to the mark.” Beckman nodded knowingly at her, choosing her words with precision. “That you used your proximity to gather invaluable knowledge.”

Chuck caught a brief falter that Sarah attempted to hide, but when he blinked, Agent Walker, blue eyes on ice, was back in the saddle. She had to be uncomfortable, and why not? The past mission parameters had been spelled out in front of her teammates, including the sticky insinuation under the surface. Chuck cringed at the thought. 

Next to her, and ever sympathetic to her plight, Casey let out a quiet snort at the word proximity. 

“That is correct, General.” Sarah lifted her chin and held her own under Beckman’s watchful eyes. “What does that have to do with the new assignment?”

“I understand the mark fell in love with you, Agent Walker.” Her tone was milder at the mention of love, but only long enough to watch Sarah fight a flinch. “As luck would have it, we’ve learned that the esteemed representative is staying in Washington during the holidays. Meeting with several ex-pats from Syria who may be funneling technology to develop WMDs.”

“WM –? Oh.” Chuck’s confusion grew into a look of concern as he spliced it together.

“Weapons of Mass Destruction for the imbeciles in the room,” Casey said out of the corner of his mouth in Chuck’s direction. 

“It took me a second, okay? Sheesh. I did figure it out.”

Casey rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his green polo. “You’re telling us … this Syrian national has associates that may be selling out our government to develop biological weapons?” 

Chuck could see him tense. Scumbags with ill intent always did manage to get him riled up. 

“Chemical, nuclear …. They make no distinction in what they hope to acquire, Major.” She turned to Sarah again. “Diplomatic relations with Syria are officially unsanctioned for the time being. We need to leverage your unique position with your ... friend. You’ll return to Washington and spark up the relationship again. Get close to al-Assad and find out who he is meeting with and what they are capable of,” she stated plainly. “You’re leaving within the hour for Langley, Sarah.”

“Bring protection,” Casey snickered. “I hear those Hezbollah Separatist can get handsy, eh, Walker?” Uncrossing his arms, he took a stride closer to the monitor. “Ma’am, I could provide surveillance, or perhaps be there to apprehend –”

“You, Major,” the General cut in, looking perturbed at the interruption, “will go on your required leave as ordered. You haven’t taken a break from missions in three years.” Beckman tucked her tongue in her cheek and raised a brow at him, canvassing the agent. “Maybe spending the holiday with your mother and your family will do you some good. Smooth down those rough edges a little.”

Chuck had been biting his lip while the General spoke – half hoping she would forget the part of the mission that was apparently going to disrupt his life – but with the topic of Casey’s family now out in the open, both Sarah and Chuck turned towards him with expectant looks.

“Wait a minute, General.” Chuck jolted backwards and squinted at the agent’s stiff back. “Casey… has a family?”

“Told ya before, Bartowski. Not hatched. Now cork it.”

“It’s just that I’ve never pictured you with, you know, real people – say, where’re you going, anyway?”

Casey gave him a look that promised pain if didn’t get off the topic. “None of your goddamn business and leave it at that.”

Chuck was partial to his body parts, so he kept his head down, hunched in his seat. Then, it hit him. 

“Oh, hang on,” he whispered. Under the fluorescent lights of Castle, the world brightened as a Christmas miracle plopped into his lap. “This means that Sarah will be on an assignment, Casey will be visiting home – wherever that ominous locale may be – and I … this is too good to be true. I get to be alone for seven whole days.” Chuck was awestruck at the notion. “No handlers, no sitting in the back of the van, no falling out of windows … I’ll get a taste of what it was like to be … normal again.”

Casey grunted. “You’re twenty-eight, work at a Buy More and live with your sister. What part of normal were you planning on lapping up, sport?”

Chuck glowered, opening his mouth with a retort ready to fly, but Beckman put up a hand to stop him right there.

“Not so fast, Mister Bartowski,” she advised, sounding abrupt. “When I said you would also be affected by this assignment, I did not mean that the Intersect would be allowed to roam the streets of Los Angeles unprotected.” 

And there it was … and he was not going to like it. Deliberately, Chuck swiveled and rose out of the chair, taking a place next to Casey in the line-up. His face twisted into a grimace. “But I thought you said –”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The General shook her head in exasperation while scanning the asset from his mop head to his Chucks. “Experience tells us you cannot be left on your own. The Intersect seems to attract predicaments where being held at gunpoint or kidnapped is the standard operating procedure.”

“Well, I … granted, General, there have been a few times … but still –” Chuck looked from one handler to the other, hoping to get support. One looked concerned. The other was giving him smug smile. “Uh, maybe the bad guys, thugs, and all around evil-doers will be on holiday … this time?”

Completely ignoring the kid, Beckman gave a curt nod to her NSA agent. “Agent Casey. Ensure the asset is ready to leave in thirty minutes. A transport team will be taking him to an undisclosed secure location until you and Agent Walker have returned from your respective duties.”

“What?!” Chuck’s heart jumped into this throat. “You can’t do that!” he sputtered. “Spending the holiday as a guest of the NSA in a … in a freaking safe house is not my idea of a destination Christmas!”

“Chuck,” Sarah began in her placating tone and suddenly there was a hand on his arm. “Just take a breath. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“No. Not this time.” Stubbornly, Chuck stepped forward before he could stop himself. He glowered at Beckman. “I’ve done everything you have asked me to do. I almost get killed on a regular basis in the name of national security, but I will not let you –”

“Bartowski,” Casey growled, using his voice to remind him of his link on the food chain. “You’re talking to a four star General. Now sit down, shut up, and let the grownups handle this one.”

In a show of courage, maybe disguised as a death wish, Chuck dared to shake him off. “This is my life. Not one of your war games. I’m not going to a safe house. Not for Christmas.”

“Sounds like you are, Bartowski.” By the look on his face, Casey was enjoying this way too much. “Don’t worry. I understand all the inmates get together for eggnog and tree trimming right before lock down for the night.” The NSA agent shifted his eyes to Beckman. “Is that it, General?”

“Yes, that will be it,” she said. “Oh, and Major, please provide an appropriate cover story at the Buy More after the transport team –”

“Are you listening to me?” Chuck bristled and advanced another step. No way was he letting the government jerk him around on a leash like this. “I’m not going.”

Casey shook his head and held up a thick arm in front of Chuck, stopping him from going any further. “We’ll handle it from here, General,” he said, one nod to his superior officer. “The asset will be waiting.” With a look past his shoulder, he added, “Looks like you were naughty this year, Bartowski.” 

“Sarah.” Chuck spun around to face his more sympathetic handler, giving her a pleading look. “Say something. You can’t let her do this.”

While Casey reached for his arm, Sarah’s line of sight drifted to the side for a moment. Chuck could see the blonde systematically sorting her thoughts until something sparked behind her eyes. ‘Let’s be Friends Sarah’ vanished like a specter, and the ‘Dark Mistress of the CIA’ magically appeared in her place. 

Sarah’s gaze snapped up, looking Beckman dead-set in the eyes. “General, Chuck’s right.” 

He was? That was news to him. Chuck slanted her a look, no idea where she was going with this, but he held a blind trust she would help him get out of this mess. 

“Need your ex-fake girlfriend to fight your battles, eh?” Casey flicked him a dismissive look. “You heard the General, Bartowski. You’re going.”

“I said I’m not,” Chuck replied, defiance heating his face. “Nuh-uh. I’m afraid the NSA needs to come up with another plan for this one, because this, in the words of the government, is an inoperable solution. Layman’s terms, it su –”

“Ma’am.” Sarah managed to slip between the two men. “I think there may be other –”

“Yeah, we could always stuff him in a suitcase and send him with Walker,” Casey cut in helpfully. “This mission might call for someone who squeals like a girl in the face of danger.”

Chuck and Sarah gave him the stink eye for his efforts. He grinned at them in return.

“General,” Chuck kept his voice steady as the spies turned to him. “I’m putting my foot down. If you think you’re going to do this, I swear I’ll –”

“Finishing that sentence is only going to get you in a deeper hole, Mister Bartowski.” Beckman’s lips tightened to a thin line. “I’ve heard your opinion of the matter, but this is the only viable solution –”

Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t. Chuck rounded on Sarah and Casey, his heart hammering, staring at them like they had several loose screws between their ears. “Guys, you cannot let her do this. You need to –”

“Bartowski, the discussion’s over,” Casey said. “You don’t get a vote, so pack your bag.”

“But it’s Christmas! And I’m a grown man!” Crap. It probably didn’t help that his voice rose an octave at the end of that. 

“That is quite enough.” Beckman brushed him off with gesture. “Unless anyone else wants to weigh in with their opinion.” It was said in a tone that clearly told them they damn well better not. “I’ll let the team sort out the procedures –”

“Ma’am. There is an alternative that keeps Chuck out of the safe house for Christmas.” 

The General looked irritated that the conference call had lingered on with yet another disruption. “What now, Agent Walker?”

“There’s only one logical conclusion,” she replied, lifting a resolute gaze and taking a step to cross in front of her partner. “Chuck can go home with Casey.” 

“Gah!” Chuck whirled on her, his jaw wide. “What?!”

“… the hell, Walker.” Casey’s voice dropped to a toxic level and he shouldered past her. “Over my dead body.”

Beckman heaved a breath. “I should’ve specified any option within the realm of reality, Agent Walker.” She turned to Casey. “Have the asset ready to go.” Her finger was poised over the switch to end the video feed just as Sarah moved to stand in front of Casey.

“Ma’am, if you would please hear me out.” She kept her eyes locked on Beckman, ignoring the man who had turned to her with a firm jaw and eyes that had gone black. “Your plan could endanger the asset.”

If Sarah’s intention was to trigger a reaction at the threat of endangerment, well, it worked. Chuck watched as she pulled her hand back to peer darkly at Sarah. “I’m giving you one minute, Walker.”

Casey crossed his arms again, fuming. Chuck was still trying to find his voice, the insane suggestion slinging around in his brain like mud pies against a wall.

“General, each time we expose Chuck’s identity outside these walls – that he’s an important asset for the government – we expose him to risk,” Sarah said, matter of fact. “We know that Fulcrum has infiltrated our agencies. Analysts, operatives at our facilities, members of our extraction teams – any officer could be one of them. Taking him out from under our protective custody,” and she waved a hand between her and Casey, who was still seething at the mere suggestion, “increases the chance for leaks. That someone on their side will remember his face.”

Beckman set down a report she had begun to thumb through. “Go on, Walker,” she said, still skeptical. 

“What I’m trying to say, ma’am, is this: how many more times do we need to risk exposure when we don’t know the span of their reach within our agencies? Casey’s Sensei, Jill Roberts ... who else?” Sarah gave her a look that could put a drill sergeant to shame. “The safest place for Chuck is with me or Casey, not underground.”

“Wait just a goddamn minute,” Casey said, wincing slightly when he realized he had let out a swear in front of the General. Letting it go, he scowled and motioned in Chuck’s direction. “Can I respectfully suggest that before we all hop on Walker’s crazy train that we actually consider something that I like to refer to as logistics?” With that, he shot Sarah a dirty look. “First of all, no one in my family would ever believe that I have a friend I’m bringing home for Christmas.”

Chuck let his eyes drift over Casey from top to bottom and raised his hand. “General, he does have a point there.”

“Ma’am.” Sarah glanced at her teammate. “I believe Major Casey is a seasoned spy. One of your most skilled.” She raised a brow, challenging him to refute her. “Certainly, a spy of his caliber could come up with a plausible cover story to tell his family.”

“You want me to lie to my family?”Casey grit out between his teeth. 

Inclining her head at him, Sarah gave him a wry smile. “Are you saying you can’t do the same thing we ask our civilian asset to do every day? Lie to his family?” 

The look Casey pinned on her should’ve melted her into a puddle on the Castle’s floor, leaving nothing but high leather boots and a pool of blonde hair. Chuck swore he could hear Casey’s teeth gnashing together, while the muscles along his arms rippled in tension. “I serve my country. Keep my family out of it.”

“You know, she … does have point, Casey,” Chuck remarked, wrinkling his forehead. “I have to lie to Ellie – oh, but wait; I don’t want you to think I’m in favor of this idea, because –”

“Stay out of this,” both agents barked in unison, turning their scowls back to each other. 

“Casey, think about it.” Sarah put her hands on her hips and rocked back on her heels to meet Casey’s eyes. “We can’t expose Chuck’s identity to more agents. Not unless we know they haven’t been planted there by Fulcrum – and we don’t know.” She held up her hand to tick off each point. “How about the Intersect scientist who tried to sell Chuck to the highest bidder, or Leader, and have you forgotten how dangerous –” 

“I get your point, Walker.”

“Good. Then you understand why you have to take Chuck with you.”

“Not happening, sister.” Casey intentionally squared his shoulders in a way that emphasized his sheer bulk. “That kid is not gonna stick his nose in my private life.”

“No more than the government has in his?” Sarah asked. “Casey, you are being completely unreasona –”

“And you are both damn well crossing the line.” How did Beckman do that? Chuck wondered. Though the General’s voice was low, it managed to resonate in every corner of Castle. “I’ve heard your idea, Sarah – and Major Casey, before you barge in, your argument has been duly noted as well.”

“And me, General?” Chuck sidled up next to the team. “What about – ow.” He jerked his head in time to see Sarah pulling her hand away from his arm.

“Thank you, Agent Walker. May I continue now?”

Rubbing his abused bicep, Chuck narrowed his eyes at her but kept his mouth shut.

“I’ve weighed the options. Major Casey is correct in that the interference on his requested leave would be encompassed with difficulties.”

The NSA Agent made no attempt to hide his droll look. “Roger that, ma’am. The asset will be ready for pick-up in twenty –”

“However, Agent’s Walkers point … that the risk of Chuck’s exposure to agents outside our inner circle is indeed a threat to his security … has merit.” Beckman leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed as she contemplated God-knows-what. After a pause, she let out a resigned huff. “While it is highly irregular and somewhat precarious, the asset will –”

“Oh, crap,–”

“General.” Casey strode forward, tension screaming over his usually schooled features. He looked like he could do with a good kill, more than the usual urge this time. “With all due respect, you cannot ask me to –”

“Ask?” Beckman made a contemptuous noise unbecoming of a general. “I don’t ask, Major. I’ve made my decision.”

Chuck blinked in confusion while his brain tried to process the wackiness that was unfolding. How did the last ten minutes go from Christmas at home in peace to … Holy hell, no. He almost choked on the words stuck in his throat. 

“General, wh-what are you saying?”

“I’m saying pack your bags, Mister Bartowski.” Beckman reached for the button to end the transmission for good this time. “Congratulations,” she said coolly. “You’re having Christmas … with the Caseys.”

Castle  
19 December 2008  
10:39 am PST 

Five minutes later, and Chuck still couldn’t move. When the call with Beckman ended, the kid slouched over in one of the chairs, staring first at Sarah and then Casey. Air was being squeezed out of his lungs. It took all his effort just to find a smidgen of oxygen in Castle’s cavernous space. 

Something in his lower gut fluttered. The fear of death, he realized. 

Chuck was supposed to be behind the desk at the Buy More, finishing the Windows upgrade for a customer. At this moment, without a doubt, Big Mike was stalking the aisles, hollering his name and sending Nerds scattering like buckshot to track him down. 

Shaking this badly, the kid couldn’t go back to work just yet. He had been a gnat’s hair away from being tossed in a bunker, and before he could bat an eye, he was going home … with Casey? 

Oh, God. 

The first uneasy moment after the meeting concluded, Chuck felt his fists constrict under the table as he braced himself for Casey’s reaction. That he was ordered to go home with him. Through sheer force of will, Chuck supposed, the agent had not planted his boot into the monitor by now. Instead, Casey remained frozen in place for a good minute, holding to his military posture, his eyes boring a hole into the blank screen. 

This was somehow worse.

“Casey?” Despite the heat bubbling off of him, Sarah took a compulsive step that crossed into his space, and almost reached up to put a hand on Casey’s shoulder before reconsidering. “It’s not going to be that bad. You’ll still be home with your family, and this way, Chuck doesn’t have to spend Christmas –” 

That was as far as she got. Hearing ‘family’, ‘Chuck,’ and ‘Christmas’ in the same sentence forced a deep threatening noise out of his throat, and without looking at either of them, Casey stalked into the armory. 

“Well.” Chuck watched Casey’s menacing brawn as he retreated, waiting until the larger man was out of earshot. “That could’ve gone a little better, don’t you think?”

“Look at it this way: he didn’t shoot either of us.”

“But you know he wanted to.” Frowning, Chuck squelched his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, Sarah? That’s all you could come up with? Christmas with the Caseys?!”

“Be thankful, Chuck. You could be spending Christmas in an undisclosed location, you know.”

“I am going to an undisclosed location!” Chuck yelped, none too quietly. “Think about it. Do we even know where our scary partner is taking me?”

Sarah shrugged as her gaze cut to the armory. “Casey’s never shared any personal information with me.”

“Doesn’t that tell you something, Sarah?” The clacking noise of Casey stacking up rounds of ammo made Chuck spin – almost tipping over in the rolling chair. He steadied himself and winced when another box landed with a thud. “Now it all makes sense,” Chuck said, morose. “Last week, I read about a family that has lived on road kill for twenty years. Twenty years of opossum and squirrel, Sarah. How do you know that’s not his family? It would unravel the mystery, wouldn’t it?”

“Chuck, keep your voice down.” Sarah gave a fleeting look towards the arsenal, watching while Casey methodically loaded boxes of ammo into a duffle. “He’s going to hear you.”

“Or what if they’re one of those psycho gun nut families you hear about? What … what if they take me to a canyon and use me for target practice. Oh, God. They decide to use me for human prey.”

“Chuck, look at me.” Sarah put a hand in his hair to get his attention. “It can’t be that bad.”

Another sharp clack, and they both whirled in the direction of the noise, just in time to see Casey release the lock on the long case that held his precious minigun. Trancelike in his intensity, the NSA agent held it up and ran his fingers lightly over the barrel in a smooth caress, not knowing he was being watched. 

“Can’t be that bad?” Chuck hissed and his eyes flared wide. “Oh, really, Sarah?”

Sarah lifted a shoulder. “Casey’s just trying to get a rise out of you. I’m sure, uh, his family is ….” She tried to find the right words and bought some time by bringing up her hand to clear her throat. “Uh, perfectly … normal.”

The kid clamped his hands over his face. “I’m dead,” he muttered between his fingers. “So very very dead.”

“Really, Chuck?” Sighing at him, Sarah pulled his hands away so that he could see her eyes roll for his benefit. “How about this?” she proposed, trying to get him to smile. “Let’s use your growing spy skills to figure out where the two of you are headed. I’m sure it won’t be that bad if you think about it.”

Looking doubtful, Chuck didn’t bother to argue. “I get what you’re trying to do, just so you know. But seeing that I’m about to be transported to the shire of horror, I guess I’ll play along.” He smoothed his grey tie in a nervous gesture and sank back into his chair. “Based upon the fact that a drawl is decidedly missing from his voice, we can eliminate the South, can’t we?”

“While that is an excellent point, Agent Bartowski, he may be hiding it. The southern drawl is a dangerous weapon in itself, you know. Lulls the unsuspecting victim into thinking they’re dealing with a simple, charming soul – and then ping, a Dixie howitzer right between the eyes.” She beamed a devious grin at the kid. “Don’t let that fool you.”

“Nice, Sarah.” Chuck just looked at her, a bit ruffled that she was getting some mileage out of this. “Humor at this juncture. Huh. My life is going to end, and you’re just playing with me.” He threaded his hands behind his head, his brows drawing down. “Well, figuring it out would be impossible, then. He could be hiding any type of accent – hold on, I know that look,” Chuck said, studying her smile. “You do know, Sarah Walker.”

“Nice bit of spy work there. Yes, I think I do.” When Chuck opened his mouth, she put two fingers over his lips and pressed lightly. “I’ve been trained to pick up on linguistics and regional influences.”

“Then tell me,” he grumbled against her fingers. “Where does the mysterious and elusive Casey species reside?”

The chirp of her cell phone made Sarah drop the hand on his mouth. She fished it out of her pocket, glancing at the display, and let out a breath. “That’s my cue,” she said, all the humor of a moment ago evaporating. “Beckman has a jet waiting. I have to go.”

“Sarah, wait.” Chuck sprung up from the chair and rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe you should talk to the General.” He dared to glimpse past her at the first two duffels Casey had loaded, lined up like soldiers at the bottom of the staircase. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“It’s going to be fine, Chuck.” Sarah patted his arm – like a good friend would, he reminded himself – and grabbed her purse from the top of her desk. “Casey may be a pain in the ass, but he’s by-the-book. He would never let anything happen to you, no matter what you think. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Hmm?” 

She arched a perfect brow at him. “I’ll be the one de-briefing you when you get back.”

“Hilarious, but you forgot to specify, if I get back.” Chuck couldn’t help but put on a sour look. “Now that you bring it up, how could I overlook the obvious? There is a silver lining. I’m going to learn more about our frightening coworker than either of us ever thought possible.”

Sarah was folding up her laptop, but stopped to shake her head at him. “Sorry, Chuck. I hate to tell you this, but after I de-brief you, you can never mention this week to anyone. To me, Casey … for your own protection … and theirs as well.” Just as she took her keys from her purse, Sarah settled in front of him, serious this time. “The next seven days won’t exist when they’re over.”

“I’ve got the hang of the whole fake existence, Sarah.” Chuck straightened a bit while desperation began twisting in his stomach. “I guess it will be like it never happened.”

“You know better than anyone what it’s like … having someone intrude on your personal life, right?” Sarah gave him a wan smile and leaned in to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Be good,” she said. “I’ll see you next week.”

Chuck took a minute to stew over that, so Sarah was halfway up the stairs before it occurred to him. “Hey, you never told me,” he called after her.

Slowing her pace, she leaned her elbows over the railing, giving him a curious look. “What?” 

“Where are we going? You said you knew.”

In reply, she flung her hair off her shoulder and adjusted the briefcase. “Talk to him. It might help to at least start up a simple conversation. Get over the bumpy road.”

That pothole riddled path didn’t sound very promising to Chuck’s ears. “Sarah, wait –”

“Oh, and Chuck?” She was chewing on her lip, keeping her gaze in the direction of the armory. “Don’t piss him off. I’d like you back in one piece.”

Castle Armory  
19 December 2008  
11:28 am PST 

“Whoa, whoa, there big guy.” Chuck had to scramble sideways to avoid having his left foot crushed by duffle bag number three. “Packing up the entire contents of the armory, I see.” For several seconds, he surveyed the overstuffed bags lined up at the stairs and let his eyes roam slowly to Casey, digging through a crate on one of the shelves. “Who knows? Maybe this Christmas you can keep the bigger weaponry at home?”

Casey didn’t bother looking up. “Sweet Bettie’s coming,” he announced flatly, searching through a box until his eyes spotted a block of C4. “And this.” Without even turning his head, he gave the explosives a toss, sending them in the vicinity of the ammo stack.

“Oh my God!” Before he could stop himself, Chuck deployed ‘The Morgan’, protecting the important bits and pieces, and waited for the bang. Ten seconds passed in silence. Relieved that all his body parts were still intact, he pulled his hands down sheepishly and peered over at Casey’s ‘numb-nuts’ expression, trained on him, of course. 

“It’s not hot without a fuse, Bartowski.”

Just like that, the kid watched as a box of fuses was flung to the pile. “Good … good to know,” Chuck said, swallowing hard. He leaned against one of the shelves and watched Casey loading what he hoped was his last bag of heavy artillery. “Listen,” Chuck started, feeling the sweat sprout under his white nerd shirt, “I know you’re mad, and maybe it would help if –”

“Pass me that portable grenade launcher, will ya.”

“Gee, that’s swell, Casey,” Chuck deadpanned. “I was wondering if I was going to have to pack mine – but, whew, right? I’d hate to be in the road without it. Never know when you’ll need to launch high-grade exploding projectiles at an unsuspecting target.”

“Didn’t I tell you to stuff it already today? Get it.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

Casey pinned him with a cold stare.

“All right. One portable grenade launcher, coming up.” Chuck searched the shelf until he found the box labeled, strangely enough, Casey’s shit/Paws off. “Oh.” He came to a standstill. “Let’s hope this was packed on one of those rare days you weren’t feeling literal.” Shaking it gingerly, he passed it off to the agent and licked his lips, bolstering himself to go on. “Casey? I was saying, maybe it would help if we talked about where we’re –”

“Lemme guess. Did you come here to yammer about my Christmas present, Bartowski?” 

“And here I thought being my handler was present enough. Though, I did find an autographed photo of Hillary Clinton to add to your –”

“Eh.” Casey went to a sleek ribbed case on the table, popped it open, and with reverence usually reserved for the GOP, he held up a gun that Chuck had never seen before. It was a silver plated monstrosity, obscenely large and intimidating, hard lines and cold steel. A gun that he had to have found on eharmony. “No need to get me anything.” Casey took his time checking the chamber. “I handled my own list this year.”

“I … I see that – wow. Okay, then.” Chuck coughed to clear something that had gotten lodged in his throat and peeled his eyes off the handgun. “Actually, though … Casey … I wanted to know, uh, what should I pack?” As much as he was dreading the answer, Chuck mustered up a grin. “I mean, are we going to a warm place with beaches, maybe somewhere I can work on my tan?” 

“Heh.” Casey tossed another round in a bag and zipped it up with a good yank, then lifted the strap over his wide shoulder. With one last look at the armory, he drew to a stop in front of the kid, eyeing him up and down. Casey finally gave him a smirk. “You own a warm coat, Bartowski?”

“Uh, no?”

The NSA agent chuckled to himself. “Figures.” Snagging the straps of the other burgeoning bags, Casey positioned them over his shoulder, like a very scary and messed up version of Santa Claus cinching up his packs. The kid blinked a few times to clear that image out of his head.

“Figures?” Chuck gave him an aggravated look. “Hey, you could –”

“Get back to your nerd station.” Apparently, in Casey vernacular, the conversation was over. 

“Hold on, Casey.” Chuck waved his hands to stop him, frowning. “That’s it? That’s all you can tell me? Can you at least let me know where we’re going?”

“None of this pussy Southern California weather you’re used to,” Casey muttered, not bothering to look at him as he headed up the stairs. “Have your scrawny ass at the fountain at oh nine hundred, ready to roll.”

“Wait.” Chuck felt a tightening in his gut as he jumped to follow him on his heels. “What does that mean?” 

His only answer was a derisive snort … which was heard a moment before the steel security door whisked closed in Chuck’s face.

Oh, hell. 

This was going to end badly.

-x-End Chapter One Meet the Kin-x-


	2. Chapter Two

Meet the Kin – a Twisted Tale of Christmas 

(Chapter Two)

And although I know  
it’s a long road back,  
I promise you  
I’ll be home for Christmas 

\- Kim Gannon, Walter Kent, 1943

-x-

20 December 2008  
Los Alamitos Airfield, Orange County  
10:07 am CST 

“This is … do you always get to travel like this?” Because, whoa. Chuck whistled between his teeth while his eyes traveled over the sleek white Gulfstream stationed outside a cavernous hangar. He clutched his messenger bag tighter to his body, glancing at Casey’s iron clad expression. “Even when you take a vacation?”

Casey yanked two of the black duffels out of the Vic’s trunk with what could be deemed as excessive force. “Not a vacation anymore, is it, Bartowski?” His tone made it clear he wasn’t expecting Chuck to pipe up with an answer. “It’s a mission now, thanks to the Intersect,” he pointed out, tossing the bags next to the access stairs of the plane. “The only – and I mean only – good thing about this scenario is that I got to refund my coach class ticket for this. Can’t have the Intersect flying commercial now, can we?”

“This isn’t exactly my choice, you know.” Chuck snorted as his eyes scanned the airfield, and he pulled his own bag out of the trunk. “Red bun? Lack of facial expressions? Orders? Does any of this sound familiar to you?” 

“Heh.” 

That was the extent of pleasantries out of Casey since the rendezvous in front of the fountain at precisely nine am. Casey stood there, looking at his watch as if waiting for another reason to kick his ass, and without a word, he had led him to the Vic. The trunk was already loaded to the gills with most of the contents of the armory, so Chuck had to squeeze his bag in between the portable grenade launcher and the minigun case. 

The cold hard silence in the car was underlined with only one cynical chuckle during the entire hour. It came right about the time Chuck asked if the fleece hoodie jacket he had brought would be warm enough. That was it. A freaking non-answer. He leaned back in the seat and stared out the window, wondering if this was the last time he would see palm trees and sun for a week. Or Southern California … ever. 

Taking a breath, he gave himself a pep talk. Casey was ticked off as hell, but he wouldn’t kill the Intersect. 

Chuck had to repeat it a few times in his head, just for good measure. 

Was he missing something here? Had all of this been intentional? He stiffened, thoughts whizzing. What if Casey had decided to thumb his nose at orders and just shove him in a bunker anyway for the week? He would so do it. This could be a trap, an easy way to bring him in quietly with blind compliance. 

Crap. A damp sweat sprung up under Chuck’s shirt and his grip tightened on the door handle. He wondered if he could survive a barrel roll onto the pavement at this speed, or if the torque and velocity would leave a gangly splat on the asphalt. They made it look so easy in the movies. 

It didn’t take a government computer lodged in his noggin, however, to conclude that a week in a bunker won out over certain death under Casey’s tires, hands down. Reclining back into the seat, he began to fiddle with the knobs on the radio, anything to fill the dead air – until his hand was brusquely swatted away. 

“I was just … wow. Not a fan of Christmas songs, I see?” Giving him a dirty look, Chuck rubbed his fingers to ease the sting. So much for cozy car trips with Casey. He went back to staring blankly out the window.

Thirty minutes later, Chuck found himself tucking his jacket more snugly around his chest while an NSA sanctioned jet waited on the tarmac to take them to God-knows-where.

The last bag hit the ground near the stairs with a thump just as the pilot poked his head out from the cabin door. “Good morning, Major Casey,” he nodded, and then flicked a curious look at Chuck. “And …?”

“Never mind him. New recruit. He’s just here to carry the bags.” Casey gave Chuck a sideways look. “Let’s get them loaded, kid,” he told him, heading up the stairs empty handed.

“Yes, sir,” Chuck muttered, and picking up the straps, he hoisted them over his shoulder. Just great. At this rate, he would have to make a few trips up the steps. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be down here getting your bags, Major.” It was a struggle to climb up the narrow stairs weighted down like a pack mule, but after three treks, Chuck hefted the last bag to the back of the plane and flopped down in one of the cushioned seats. 

Casey raised his hot coffee in a mock salute and went back to reading the newspaper. 

Okay, I get it, you’re pissed, but do you have to be such an asshole?

The pilot stepped out of the cockpit and pressed a switch next to the cabin door; the stairs retracted into the closed position with a smooth hum. As soon as he checked a portable tablet he was holding, the man crossed down the aisle to Casey’s row. “We’re cleared for departure to Scott in ten minutes, sir.” 

His voice had Chuck straightening in his seat and turning to him. “Hold on. What did you just say?”

“Scott.” The pilot looked at him strangely. “Air Force Base.” Nodding one more time, he disappeared into the cockpit. 

“Scott … Scott ….” Chuck scrambled to get his iPhone out of his jacket. With a few taps and a search, he waited for the screen to display the map. “Hah!” He held up the phone and waved it in Casey’s direction. “Southern Illinois … outside of St. Louis.” Flashing a self-satisfied grin, he said, “Got ya.”

“Nice piece of spy work, Bartowski,” Casey commented, flipping the page of the newspaper. “Maybe that app will tell you its twenty-one degrees there, eh?” Lowering the paper, he made a point to skim over Chuck’s thin jacket. “Did you pack your bathing suit, too, sport?”

Miffed, Chuck pulled the hoodie around his body again and gave him the stink eye. “You’re an evil, petty man, you know that?”

Casey grunted and went back to the sports section.

20 December 2011  
Scott Air force Base  
3:53 pm CST 

When the NSA requisitioned jet landed at Scott AFB, Casey asked him – in the form of an order – to wait while he had a short discussion with two men who had met the plane. Chuck watched him out the porthole window, wishing the Intersect had given him lip reading abilities, but he could only guess what they were saying. A few minutes later, a black Tahoe pulled up, and another man climbed out and handed Casey a set of keys. 

Casey stuck his head in the cabin and signaled to him. “Move your ass,” was the next order. “And bring the bags.” 

Frowning, Chuck began to say something that would get him in trouble, and reconsidering, he wrestled the bags out the narrow door. That was when it hit him. A blast of arctic air that cut through his coat like a knife and sliced straight to his bones. 

Chuck threw the hood over his head and scrambled to get the bags to the Tahoe before he froze. “Oh my God … its – why did you have to live here!” He gave Casey a pained look.

Casey shook his head and relieved him of the last of the bags. “It could be worse.” He lifted the hatch and set the overstuffed duffels inside the cargo space. “It could be snowing like a bitch. Get in. We still have an hour and a half on the road.”

20 December 2011  
I -55 northbound  
5:07 pm CST 

The gods were listening. And, without a doubt, they hated him. 

Because by the time Casey turned off the freeway onto a rural road, the snow storm had picked up its intensity; swirling white flakes carried on the wind, creating a dizzying effect in the headlamps. 

“Is it always like this?” Chuck asked. “Or did you order Mother Nature to do it? Just to rub it in about the coat?”

Casey shrugged, ignoring him. A minute later, he gave the kid a narrow look from the driver’s seat. “Listen up,” he announced point-blank. “There’re gonna be some ground rules.” 

“Gr-ground rules?”

“That’s right. We’re gonna be there in twenty minutes, so I need you to clean out your geek ears. When I’m done, you’re going to repeat back all of this until I think you’re ready. Got it?”

“Well, does that mean I –”

“Rule one: you address my mother as Mrs. Casey. Not Ida –”

“Her name is Ida? Wow, sounds so … harmless. Pleasant, really –”

“Not ma or mom or anything else … and if you even consider uttering the words Mother Casey….” He made a low noise, a deliberate threat. “Just Mrs. Casey to you. That means keep out of her hair and keep your trap shut.”

“What else would I call her besides Mrs. Casey? Sheesh. Is this little list of regulations really necessary?”

Casey peeled his eyes off the icy roads to glare at him. “Are you gonna have a problem with these rules, Bartowski?” 

Chuck managed to pull off a nod, deciding it wasn’t wise to argue with a man transporting enough fire power to take out several small Midwestern cities. “Please. Continue.”

“Rule two.” Casey cleared his throat. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t look at anything –”

“Really? Think about that, Casey. Don’t look? I’m not blind, you know. In fact, my twenty-twenty vision is my strongest quality, so how exactly do you propose that I not –” 

“Rule three,” Casey cut in, knuckles turning chalk white on the steering wheel. “Don’t engage in any conversation, and only speak when someone asks you a question.” He made certain to stop there for a second, letting Chuck squirm. “And then, give one word answers only. Keep your trap shut.”

Chuck took his eyes off the road to give him a sour look. “Do all the rules end with that one?”

“Yep.” Casey slowed the vehicle down to take another turn. “Rule four: the final rule. You are never ever allowed to speak about what you will witness, Bartowski. Not to your nerd friends, your sister, Walker. To sum it up, you will –”

“Keep my trap shut?” Chuck finished for him, getting a little peeved by this exercise. Where was his holiday spirit, anyway? “Yeah, I get it, I get it. That is one Sarah covered with me.”

“Good,” Casey said. “Now let’s go over them again. And, Bartowski?"

“Can I ask what, or will that break a rule, Major?”

Casey growled. “You forget any of these rules, and I’m gonna have to remove body parts that aren’t needed by the Intersect.”

Glancing down, Chuck did a quick mental cataloguing of the number of moving appendages that were irrelevant to the Intersect, but very important to him. There were a hell of a lot of them, he decided. “Wow. That kind of leaves it wide open.”

Casey shot him a look that made his stomach coil into a knot. 

Jesus, he can be an ass. “Fine, but did you think about this?” Chuck swiveled in his seat to peer over at Casey. “If we’re supposed to be friends and you brought me home for the holiday, why would you want me to stay out of everyone’s way? I mean, if you liked me enough to bring me home for Christmas, wouldn’t that tell your family that you wanted them to get to know me?”

Casey looked almost disturbingly calm for a few seconds. This was only an illusion. “Fuck me running,” he mumbled, taking his hand off the wheel to scrub the back of his neck. “Don’t you dare twist this around.”

“Twist? That’s logic! Wait.” Chuck sat up higher in his seat and furrowed his brows at another thought. “That reminds me. You never told me what the cover is. Who do they think I am?” 

Casey took his eyes off the road briefly to give Chuck a pointed look. “We will come back to the rules, just so you know.” Letting out a huff, the agent turned his glare straight ahead to the road. “My first choice was that you were my deaf-mute friend, but since I knew you would open your mouth at least once – in the first ten minutes – and blow the op, I had to take that one off the table.” Casey sounded perturbed that he had to let it go. 

“Geez, thanks. So, then what?”

“Well, next I thought you could be a hitchhiker that I picked up on the way to Coalton –”

“Is that the name of your home town?”

“– and maybe we would take pity on you and let you sleep in our garage during the holiday.” 

“Really nice, Casey.” Chuck tipped his head back on the headrest and vaguely focused on the churning snowstorm out the window. “Especially considering I would be a lanky Chucksicle after one night.”

“Another idea was that you’re a local vagrant that came to the door, and I would deliver you to the county lock-up for the next six days.” Casey thought about it, biting his lip and drumming his fingers on steering wheel. “I’m leaning towards the vagrant.”

“Wow. Being close to home really lightens your mood, big guy,” Chuck observed. “Can you be serious?” Because he hoped Casey was only joking about those options. 

“What have we told you about covers, Bartowski?” Casey’s voice lost the hard edge and Chuck could tell he had dropped the sarcasm for the moment. “Keep it simple and close to the truth.”

“I hate to point out the obvious, but considering the circumstances, isn’t that a bit of challenge? It would make me your what exactly?”

No answer, just heavy silence. Glancing at a road sign, Casey lifted a hand and wiped the freezing condensation off the inside of the windshield. “A friend,” he finally said and turned up the defroster. Chuck angled in his seat, blinking at him, but Casey kept his eyes ahead. The kid figured it must’ve killed him to say it, even as a cover. “We work together.” The NSA agent shrugged. “My family knows I’m in the armed forces. Your cover is some cushy desk job, pushing papers for the military.” 

“Doesn’t sound too complicated.” Chuck brightened somewhat now that he had been promoted from vagrant to an officer. “So, what is my rank? Captain Bartowski sounds a little too Starship Enterprise for my taste … so, does that make me a major as well, or maybe a –”

“Jesus.” Casey looked away from the whirling flakes to give Chuck an eye roll. “Not in your dreams, kid. You’re a staff sergeant, and I still outrank you.” Tapping the brakes cautiously to avoid a spinout, Casey brought the SUV to a slow stop and turned into a driveway. “But if you even try to salute me, I will break all ten of your fingers – got that, Intersect?”

The threat fell on deaf ears. Chuck had stopped paying attention the second the SUV pulled in to the drive. “Hold on” he said. Squinting out the window, he used his palm to clear a circle in the icy moisture trickling down the glass. “Are we … here?” 

“This is it.” Casey fell quiet. His expression had gone wistful, and as Chuck watched him digest the landscape, he swore the corner of his mouth tugged up. “Rules, Bartowski,” he reminded him, climbing out. “Don’t you forget ‘em.”

Once he was alone in the SUV, however, Chuck didn’t make a move to get out. His fingers rested on the door handle and he kept his gaze out the passenger window. Was he ready for this? He was nervous as hell, yes, but it looked innocuous enough. From the outside, it seemed Casey grew up in a house that was the corn-fed version of the Cleaver’s. The low slung bungalow was painted a muted yellow and had a long inviting porch that spanned the front. Upper windows were trimmed with white shutters and flower boxes draped with boughs of evergreens. Strands of colored lights flickered along the top of the porch, and then curled around the simple box pillars that framed the steps. 

The kid inhaled slowly and blinked. When the dwelling in front of him didn’t morph into a shack with a Lazy-boy on the front porch and a No Trespassing – We Shoot on Sight sign stuck in the yard, he had to blink again just to be sure. The inviting house was still there, and among the swirling snowflakes across the side yard, he could see the corner of a small barn painted in the same warm hue. 

“No freaking way … do I believe this,” Chuck said under his breath. “They can still be serial killers.” He froze. “Or like Casey.”

The clack of the passenger door popping open made him jump. “Are you just going to sit there, Bartowski?” Casey ducked his head down to get a closer look at Chuck’s pale face, his blue eyes sharp and direct. “What the hell is wrong with you? It’s freezing out here. Move your ass, will ya?”

Without waiting, Casey’s hands bit into his shoulder and tugged until the kid was standing in the driveway. What he had neglected to warn Chuck about was that the driveway was a slippery mess and that his comfortable black Chucks were probably not the best choice on a sheet of ice. 

“Oh, crap,” he yelped, and in a heartbeat, Chuck felt his feet sliding out from under him. 

Just as he braced for a butt plant in the snow, a thick arm shot out, snagged him around the middle, and pulled hard. “Grab onto the door.” Casey kept a hold on him until he found steady footing, and then he titled his head towards the back of the vehicle. “Quit messing around, Bartowski, and help with the bags.”

“I wasn’t –!” Chuck gave him a startled look but Casey had already pivoted around to open the hatch. The kid followed, gingerly this time, keeping his balance with a hand on the Tahoe. Reaching into the cargo space, he fisted the straps of the duffels and began dragging them out. 

“Not those,” Casey said, sounding rankled as he wrestled them out of Chuck’s hands. “Again, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“What … did I do now?”

“We can’t carry the heavy artillery into the house. You want my mother to see that? Je-sus. Guns only.” Casey shook his head and fixed him with a look. “I’ve got our suitcases. Leave the rest.”

“Fine.” Chuck threw his hands up, a motion that almost caused him to land on his ass again. Getting a foothold in the snow, his annoyance simmered. “This works, actually. You can take a turn carrying the bags.” With Casey leading the way, Chuck stretched his woefully thin coat around his middle and ducked his head against the whipping wind, keeping his eyes to the ground until he was climbing the porch steps. 

Which meant he didn’t see the front door bursting off its hinges until it was too late. 

The resounding thwack came close to making him slip on the top step, but with Casey’s broad shoulders right there, one of Chuck’s hands flew up to steady himself. He stopped dead in his tracks, half a step behind Casey, too busy staring to move. 

The woman in the doorway was statuesque, with her hair tied back off her shoulders, wisps of grey and chestnut falling near her face and eyes a shade lighter than Casey’s ice blue. Despite the freezing temperatures, she had stepped outside on the porch wearing only a jewel tone sweater over a pair of worn blue jeans. Something flitted across her face, and the older woman put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at Casey. Strangely enough, Chuck’s eyes were drawn to a wooden spoon she carried in one hand. 

“Where … the hell have you been the past three years?” she said, and the spoon hurtled up until the end was almost touching the tip of Casey’s nose. “Get your ass over here!”

Chuck flinched, distinctly wondering if a wooden spoon was considered a lethal weapon in the state of Illinois. “Casey,” he whispered, stomach cinching with a spurt of panic, “Are you sure –”

“And hug your mother, Sherman!” Like a shaft of light through the clouds, she flashed a grin and flung her arms wide. 

What … did she just say? 

Chuck kept a wary distance while the woman – holy hell, Casey’s mother – launched herself at Casey, and encircled his middle in a hug that should’ve cut off air flow. He watched, bewildered, as Casey dropped the two duffel bags and stepped into the embrace, hugging her back with the same fierceness. They stayed like that for a half minute, his mother kissing his cheek, laughing and telling him it was about damn time he showed up. 

“Okay, ma, need to come up for air, eh?”

“Come in, come in. My God, it’s freezing out here. Grab your things, Johnnie.” Shifting her gaze, a warm smile lit up her face as she took a good long look at the kid for the first time. Gradually, her nose crinkled up and she turned to her son. “What the heck is your friend wearing, anyway? Get him inside. Doesn’t he know it’s cold?”

“I know, mother.” Casey slanted a look at Chuck and moved a shoulder with an air of innocence. “I tried to tell him.”

Chuck opened his mouth, not really sure how he could defend himself without blowing the cover, but that was as far as he got. Mrs. Casey took hold of an arm and pulled him over the threshold. 

“Get warm. Come in. Let me get a good look at you.” Planting him in the middle of the small foyer, the woman folded her arms over her sweater and eyed Chuck from top to bottom. The heat of the scrutiny forced him to shift uncomfortably on his feet, wanting to put some space between them. After a long moment, she glanced at Casey. “What’s your friend’s name? Geez, Johnnie. Introduce us.”

A little self-consciously, Chuck’s hand came out and he gave her an awkward crooked smile. “I’m, uh, Chuck. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Casey.”

Instead of taking it in a clasp, Casey’s mother glimpsed down at his hand and puckered her lips in a frown. “That’s not how we greet Johnnie’s friends.”

“I’m … ah, not sure what you – Gah!” Arms that were surprisingly strong for an older woman enveloped his shoulders and pulled him in for a gorillalike hug. Not knowing if Casey would kill him for touching his mother – but going with the odds that he would – Chuck flailed his hands in an arc behind her back before tapping her shoulders with a light touch in return.

“And what is this ‘Mrs. Casey’ nonsense?” She leaned back and stared him in the eyes. “Mother Casey to you, Chuck. Humph. Skinny,” she added to herself, giving him another squeeze before letting go. 

Mother Casey? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his handler whirl on them as the moniker rolled off her tongue. Since Casey was behind his mother’s back, it was easy enough for Chuck to make out the threat he was mouthing to him without her noticing.

“Rule one, Bartowski.” He narrowed his eyes. “Which stick of an arm should I start with?”

Chuck gulped. “You know, I’m feeling a little slammed with the flight and all, and maybe –”

“Margaret Francis!” Mother Casey put her hand on the carved wooden banister and called up the stairs. “Get your rear end down here. Your brother’s home! And come and meet his friend.”

“What?” Casey searched his mother’s face, his eyes sparking with a gleam that the kid didn’t even begin to recognize. “Maggie’s here, ma?”

“Of course she is. The semester is over so she decided to drive up a few days early when she knew you were coming. Dan and Andrew will be here tomorrow.”

“Sister?” Chuck’s eyebrows went up and he angled his head to give Casey a questioning look. “Dan and Andrew are who exactly?”

Chuck cringed. That was out before he could curb it. It also violated one of the rules, based upon the darkened blue gaze leveled at him. Tactfully, the kid peeked at his watch. Huh. That didn’t take long, either – they had arrived a whole four minutes ago. 

“What? He didn’t tell you?” Chuck’s obliviousness brought Mother Casey to a standstill. “My Johnnie – tight lipped as they come.” She slapped his arm playfully, which only made Casey shoot Chuck a scowl after she turned to the stairs again. “Maggie, what are you doing up there?”

“My God, mother,” Chuck heard a woman reply from somewhere upstairs. “Do I have to spell it out in front of Johnnie’s new friend?”

“Um, Maggie will be right down,” Mother Casey said, suddenly busy neatening her sweater. 

While Casey’s mother asked her son about the trip, the snow storm, and the condition of the roads, Chuck gave in to his burning curiosity to inspect the living room. He was feeling uncomfortable, even a little shy and out of place, but not because of the house. Past the entryway, it seemed cozy and homey. The living room had hardwood floors covered by a thick wool rug, and a tan colored sofa that faced two cushioned arm chairs. Along the far wall, a red brick fireplace was topped with a wooden mantle, holding a miniature Christmas village with tiny windows lit up in a golden light. A row of family photos in mismatched frames were clustered together at one end of the mantle. 

Family photos? Chuck squinted across the room at the frames. One of the pictures was a young family standing on a beach. He focused on that one, wondering what a teen version of Casey looked like – until he heard a dramatic throat clearing. With a lurch, he shifted his eyes to see Casey giving him a stone cold stare, his hand slicing in front of his throat a few times. “Rule Two,” he said, quiet as death. 

Chuck blinked at him, impressed that he could do that without moving his lips. “Sorr-eee,” he griped silently.

“You know, ma.” Casey picked up one the bags, ushering the kid to the stairs. “Chuck was right. He doesn’t need to be here for this. I’m sure he’s worn out from the trip.” The NSA agent positioned himself between Chuck and his mother, his back creating a muscled wall that blocked her view. “Why don’t you go upstairs, Chuck.” He tipped his chin towards the steps. “Now,” he formed with his lips. “That is an order.” 

Fists clenched in his pockets, Chuck glanced over at Casey’s mother. “Uh, you know, Mrs. Casey, he’s right, I should –”

“Johnnie!” Both men spun around full tilt towards the high-pitched squeal, the jerking motion causing Chuck to come close to biting his tongue. He couldn’t be bothered with that now. Eyes bulging wide, he gaped at the red head taking the stairs in a rush. Reaching the bottom, she put her hands on her hips and waited one long stretch of eternity before speaking. 

“Where,” she asked with a smirk that looked eerily familiar, “the hell have you been, Sherman?”

That was twice now. Chuck drew nothing but blanks on that, but it was officially tucked away in the memory banks for future reference – the part of his brain that had nothing to do with the Intersect. No, this was stored in the part that could have some fun with that.

Looking between Casey and his sister, Chuck astutely backed up a step to get the hell out of the way. The hug was coming at Casey, arms wide and full speed ahead. He heard Casey suck in a breath, bracing himself, but after the first launch of embraces on the porch, Casey seemed to be more prepared for round two. He caught her without a hitch and let her squash him in a rib-cracking hold. 

Still gaping, the kid slowly slid back another pace, careful to stay clear of the onslaught of hugging and to get a better look at Casey’s sister.

Unbelievable. He has a sister. Chuck could see the similarities between mother and daughter. They shared the same long sturdy build, but Maggie’s features were somehow sharper; angled jaw and straight nose, high cheek bones that at the moment were flushed pink. Her auburn hair was wavy, loose with tendrils that went past her shoulders, and she was dressed casually in jeans and a fleece shirt. Rather quickly, Chuck was struck with a notion he did not think possible: Casey’s sister did not appear to be a serial killer or well-fed from years of road kill. In fact, she looked … normal. 

“God, you are a big idiot.” It was said with a pat on his cheek. “Three years? Making mom wait three years?” The younger woman beamed with a smile and squeezed hard enough to take in every inch of her brother. “Let me see you.”

“Heh.” Casey disengaged from the hug and pulled back from her. “Takes that long to recover from you two,” he rumbled, but he was aiming a smile back at her. “Small doses, Maggie. Small doses.”

Making a grab for one of the bags, Chuck tried to edge closer to the stairs, but a human shield of the female persuasion wedged into his escape path. “And who is this?” Maggie took another step closer. “For Chrissakes, Johnnie, when in the hell were you going to introduce us to your friend?” 

Well, that did explain a lot, Chuck noted. On top of everything else, Casey did come from a long line of truckers and sailors. 

Casey’s mouth went into a straight line, muscles along his neck tightening like bow strings. “Mags,” he said tersely, “This is my friend –”

“I’m his big sister, Maggie.” The blue eyes she pointed at Chuck had a familiar cast, except softer … and extremely inquisitive. “So, you are …?”

“Uh, I’m Chuck.” The kid put out his hand uneasily. “Nice to, um, meet – oof!” An all encompassing hug nearly knocked him off his feet, knocking the wind out of his lungs and making speech impossible. 

As he gasped for air, an inexplicably notion struck him, one that caused the world to cease turning on its axis. A concept that sucked him into a vortex of another dimension. 

Casey comes from a family of huggers. 

Putting that nugget aside, Chuck dealt with the bigger problem right now – such as where to put his hands. If wrapping his arms around Casey’s mother was chancy, finding a decent, safe place to put his hands on Casey’s sister was a veritable snake pit of contention. It wasn’t helping that when he risked a look past her, the agent was drilling him with a death glare. 

“Don’t even think about it, Bartowski,” he mouthed.

Thinking fast, Chuck decided on the same fumbling back patting technique he had used on Mrs. Casey, and pulled away to cough politely. “Nice … uh, nice to meet you, Maggie. So that’s a diminutive for Margaret …?”

“That’s right, Charles.” Easing back, she gave him an even look. “So, Chuck. How did you meet our Johnnie?”

“We work together,” Casey replied for him and tried to shoulder past them, intent on giving Chuck a helpful shove towards the staircase.

The Casey women would have none of that. Unwavering, they stood side-by-side in front of the kid with Casey stuck in their wake. Not that they were large women, but Chuck thought the front line of the Packers would’ve been proud of the block they had pulled off. 

“Nuh-uh, little brother.” Not looking at him, Maggie raised her hand to shush Casey, and somehow she had managed it without losing her arm. “We want to hear from him, Johnnie. Let Chuck tell us the story.” 

Over their shoulders, Chuck caught sight of something that made him repress a shudder, an ominous look so lethal it could peel back skin. ‘Say nothing,’ it said clearly, or the vagrant option would be exploited to the full extent.

“Casey’s right, actually. That was it. We met at work. And what do you know … here I am. Soooo maybe I should just go rest for – whoa.” In a single move, the XX chromosome blockade shifted in the direction Chuck had dared to step. “Or maybe not?”

“Do you live in California?”

“Y-yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Chuck gave a desperate look to Casey and didn’t venture another inch.

Behind his mother, the agent began a rude motion in a circle. ‘Speed it up, speed it up.’ The God dammit went without saying.

“All your life?” Maggie pressed.

“Well, yes, we moved there when I was little, so you could say that.” 

“Family there?” 

Chuck angled his head towards Mother Casey, who had just jumped in to the interrogation. “Yep. My sister is there with her fiancé,” he explained, trying to shuffle away. “And friends. Lots of friends there – in the military. Doing military … stuff.”

“Oh? Is that so ….” 

Knowing looks that Chuck could not begin to decipher were exchanged between the two women. A beat later, two pairs of eyes lit up in a way that told the kid whatever was happening, Casey was not going to like this. At all. 

“It was nice that you left all of your friends to come home with Johnnie for the holidays.”

“Give the kid some breathing room, will ya? You’re trying to suffocate him.” Casey reached between the two women to grab the kid. His hand got as far as Chuck’s shirt sleeve before two palms flew out like vipers and struck, swatting him away. 

“ … Sonova … watch the hands.” Casey massaged his bruised fingers. “He told you. Friend from work.” 

“Johnnie.” Mother Casey turned to him sternly, the wooden spoon appearing out of nowhere to point at his chin. “We’re not done yet.”

“Got any coffee, ma?”

That’s it, Casey?! A seasoned spy, and that’s what he came up with? The ‘let’s have coffee’ diversion? We're dead.

Neither woman answered, keeping their focus on the kid’s face. “It’s probably very nice in Southern California.” Maggie inclined her head at him. “Did you really want to visit the Midwest in December?”

“I … well, to be honest, it wasn’t my first choice, but … here I am, I guess.”

In the background, Casey’s eyes were aqua fire, heat blasting off of them. “End this!” he lipped.

“So, how long have you known Johnnie?” Maggie wondered. 

Oh, crap. Did Casey talk about this in the car? How long? Here goes. “Um, well, over a year I think, right Ca – John?”

“Yeah,” Casey agreed with an irritated look. “That sounds about right.” He squinted at Chuck and his mouth formed words that he could barely make out. “Gonna talk upstairs, Bartowski.”

No way, this wasn’t his blunder. Chuck made a grab for the luggage again and tried to discreetly go around them. “I should really go up and, you know, get some rest –”

Maggie cast him a strange look as she fought off a smile. “He’s cuter than the other one,” she contemplated. “Don’t you think, Johnnie?”

“Oh, I – don’t –” Chuck swallowed hard. Did she say other one? Though Chuck understood the words at the surface, it took him a half dozen hammering heartbeats to realize that she was talking about another asset – and big sis was on to something unless he pulled his head out and came up with an explanation … right freaking now. “Because, really I’m not –”

“Maggie, stop. You’re embarrassing your brother in front of his … friend.”

“Jesus, Maggie. His head’s gonna combust.” Casey quickly leaned forward to make another grab for him. “Leave the kid alone.”

“We’re just having a polite conversation with your friend, Johnnie. It’s like you’re … trying to hide something.” Maggie turned to quirk an eyebrow at the kid. “Isn’t that right, Chuck?” 

“I’m … uh. What’s there to hide?” The kid mustered up a guiltless look, lifted his shoulders and held out his hands. “Just Chuck from Burbank,” he said. “There’s really n-nothing else to know.”

“Oh?” Maggie pivoted on her heel to face her little brother.

“What?” Casey loomed over her, his chin stiff and brawny arms folded over his chest. 

“Fine. Since you insist on making us drag it out of you, we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” She sounded beguiled at the challenge. “Johnnie, I have to say … it was sweet the way you came around and opened the door for him.”

Casey’s jaw was so rigid that Chuck wondered how he was able to reply. “You were watching us?”

Maggie dismissed him with a shrug. “Did you forget? I always used to spy on you from my bedroom window.”

The agent made a noise in his chest that should’ve stopped her. Dead.

However, unlike 99.9 percent of the population, Maggie had no fear of Casey. Craning her neck, she mirrored his stubborn stance. “And the way you helped him when he almost fell in the snow –”

“Clumsy me! That was just unexpected,” Chuck blurted. “I brought the wrong shoes because I didn’t really – well I ….” Oh, no. What in God’s name could be the reason he didn’t know where they were going?

Maggie simply ignored Chuck’s outburst. “I also liked the way you carried in both bags. Very protective, little brother.”

Now that was a peculiar look on Casey’s face. Maybe out of place was a better description actually, because when he wore that look, he was always shooting at someone. 

And if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, when Chuck glanced at Mother Casey, she was eyeing the top of his head and smiling.

“Oh, sorry,” Chuck stammered, and flushing, he smoothed his hair down. The wind had to have made a cruel joke with the animal shapes for her to look at him like that. “Uh, maybe I should just go up and –”

“No, no … it’s cute, really.” She bit down on her mouth while she studied his face. “Hmm. How old are you?”

What the hell did this have to do with the fact that he was a government asset hiding from Fulcrum and Casey was going to kick his scrawny ass all the way back to Southern California if he told them anything?

“Uh, twenty-eight?” he replied, not sure why this was important to them. 

“Oh. I see.” Mother and daughter slowly turned in unison to give Casey a look, seemingly amused by this. “That’s … young,” Maggie confirmed, shifting back again to scan his features. “Nice eyes.”

Chuck blinked, totally confused by the grin she was now wearing. Why were they talking about him like he wasn’t there?

“Maggie, stuff it,” Casey started abruptly, a flex of tension rippling along his arms.

“Johnnie, its Christmas. Don’t talk to your big sister that way.” It was said in a way that made it clear Mother Casey was going to plug up anymore sass before it leaked out. There was a faint hardening in her gaze when she turned to Chuck. “Those kids always fought like cats n’ dogs, but in the end, they would kill to protect the other. For you though, honey, there’s no reason to be shy. We want you to feel like family.”

“F-family? Oh … I really don’t think that’s such a –”

“I mean, look at you: giving up Christmas with your own family and friends, traveling across the country to a strange place – everything you left behind to spend the holiday with us … and Johnnie of course.”

The odd looks he was getting from the women had gone beyond baffling to a sphere somewhere within the Twilight Zone. On the flip side, Casey’s deadly glower needed no translation whatsoever. It clearly said that if he kept digging this hole, his body was going to end up in one before nightfall. 

“I’m sure Johnnie didn’t tell you how much he appreciated you making the sacrifice.” She elbowed her son in the ribs. “And I for one would like to know why he didn’t tell us sooner.”

“Mom, trust me, there is nothing to –” 

“Tell you … what exactly?” Chuck wondered aloud. Shit, ground rule breaker.

“Geez, Johnnie. Do we have to wrestle it out of you?” Maggie rolled her eyes at Casey’s irked expression. Theatrically, she held up her fingers and started counting them off. “One: he left his family to be here with you. Two: he said –”

“Mom, tell her sister or not, I will snap those fingers off –”

“Oh, Jesus, Johnnie,” Maggie huffed, and added in a whisper, “It’s not like he’s the first guy you brought home.”

Chuck’s mouth fell open and his brain just took a nose dive, so he only vaguely heard his mother come to Casey’s rescue. 

“All right, Maggie, that’s enough. Lay off your little brother.”

“Okay, okay, but tell me this.” Maggie set her chin in a way that reminded Chuck of Ellie when she was getting ready to dish it out. “What other plausible reason would there be for him to be here?”

Chuck’s throat was tight as he gave Casey a frantic look. This was his fault. Why hadn’t he prepared him for this tag-team inquisition? “Uh, I’m not sure what you’re … getting at?”

Trying to back up a step, he attempted a brave look while his mind screamed a mantra over and over. Don’t say Intersect, don’t say Intersect … think of anything but that …. 

The kid told himself it was only his imagination that they were examining him like a shiny new toy Casey had dragged through the door. It had nothing to do with the possibility they had mind reading abilities. It had nothing to do with the fact that they knew his secret. 

Though Chuck was at the height of freaking out, he risked a glimpse past the two women to see how Casey was planning to get them out of this mess.

What he saw made his mouth go dry. Out of all the looks Casey had in his repertoire of expressions – pissed, angry, and just plain sarcastic – this was one the kid had never witnessed. 

Casey, spy extraordinaire and NSA cold school killer, looked like a deer in the proverbial headlights. 

Oh, this was bad. 

Before he could wrap his aching head around the craziness, Maggie stood on her tip toes to peer into a pair of startled brown eyes. Her curious face was close to level with his. “Well, Chuck?” Maggie asked. “Do you have a secret?”

“S-secret? I’m just h-here to, uh –”

Behind his sister, Casey scrubbed his hands over his face and let out a groan that was spiked with agony. “God dammit,” he muttered, his jaw muscle throbbing. 

Just like that, something snapped. Major John effing Casey HALO’ed in from twenty-five thousand feet. Chuck watched as he lifted his head, his hands doubled up into fists, and he shamelessly used his full height to take charge. 

“Mother, there is … something to tell you.”

“Johnnie, what is it?”

Chuck turned to gape as well, wondering what the hell was getting ready to spill out of Casey’s mouth. He didn’t have too long to speculate, because a large hand darted between the two women, and this time Casey wasn’t taking no for an answer. Taken completely off guard, the kid staggered when he felt a finger snag one of his belt loops and pull hard.

“Ca – John, what are you doing?” he grit out with a tight smile, while almost tripping over his soggy black Chucks. “You’re pulling ….” 

Instead of answering, Casey gave him another insistent tug … and Chuck felt an odd sensation to go with it. Because a warm, large hand was sliding along his belt and long fingers were curling around his waist. 

The kid jumped, but the strong hold didn’t give him any choice to back up or move out of the way. Via a silent order from his handler, he was coming along, dammit. To ensure he obeyed, Casey’s other hand landed on his hip and held him in place. And for a reason Chuck could not fathom, his jeans had just rubbed up against Casey’s. 

Chuck’s stomach flipped and then flopped as a surge of heat lapped at his cheeks. If he was confused before, by now his nervous system was on the brink of shutting down. His handler, a man scarier than the grim reaper himself, was holding him uncomfortably tight, not letting go. Twisting his head to the side and unable to breathe, he watched Casey’s profile, wide-eyed. 

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Casey’s grimace was meant to be a smile, Chuck supposed. 

Mother and daughter stared expectantly. “Well?”

A deep growl rumbled in Casey’s throat. Swallowing hard to gain his composure, he hooked Chuck around the middle and gave another yank on his belt, somehow jamming their bodies more closely together. 

“My new … boyfriend,” he said stiffly. “Chuck Bartowski.”

-x-End Meet the Kin Chapter Two-x-


	3. Chapter Three

Meet the Kin – a Twisted Tale of Christmas 

(Chapter Three)

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,  
Make the Yule-tide gay

\- Hugh Martin, Ralph Blane, 1943

20 December 2008  
Casey Homestead, John’s boyhood bedroom  
07:12 pm CST

“Your boyfriend?!” Chuck wheezed, trying to keep his panicked whisper low. Who was he kidding? It was screechy even to his ears. “That was what you could come up with?! I’m supposed to be –”

“Shhh!” Casey waved his hand in the direction of the bedroom door. “Keep it down, will ya? She can hear everything through these walls.”

Chuck raked his fingers through his hair and began a manic pacing alongside the bed. “How did this even happen? I was supposed to a sergeant! I had a cushy desk job!” The room was quite tiny, forcing the kid to step, pivot, and turn, back and forth while he shook his head in disbelief. “Or did you forget somehow … Oh, I don’t know, maybe as we were crossing the county line, it slipped your mind.” Turning, the kid hit a Major roadblock, and he tried to look past Casey’s chiseled chin and aggravated face to glower at the agent. “We’re not dating!”

“I said keep your Goddamn voice down, or I’m gonna put my boot so far –”

“Boys?” Mother Casey ducked her head from behind the door one millisecond after a light tap Chuck had barely heard. So much for waiting to enter. She stood there, smiling at them, but her forehead creased as she glanced at the bed. “Are there enough blankets?”

“Everything’s fine, Mother.” Casey shifted a step closer to Chuck, crowding him next to the bed. “We’re just getting settled in.”

“Yep, everything’s okey-doke – gah.” A large warm hand curling over his shoulder had Chuck straightening with a jolt. “We were just ….” What is he doing?! While he stammered, the thick forearm draped loosely at his neck jostled him, kind of playful. The kid stopped breathing.

Mother Casey folded back the top cover. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“We will, Ma. We’ll be right down.”

Chuck felt the straying fingers squeeze in lightly at ‘we’. He cleared his throat. “That’s right. John was just showing me his, uh ….” Oh, God, what? Desperately, his eyes traveled around the room. “All of his trophies from high school.” Chuck flailed an arm in the general direction of a shelf that was lined with trophies; ribbons of assorted colors were looped over a few of them. “Wow, that is … impressive?” Huh. It really was. He tilted his head, squinting. “Are those – ah.”

The enormous hand on his shoulder clasped tight, a silent but potent threat to shut the hell up. It worked. “Give us a minute?” Casey smiled politely at his mother.

“See you downstairs.” Mrs. Casey clapped her son lightly on the chest, and right then, Chuck caught her eyes cut over, giving him an inquisitive look. “We have lots to catch up on,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her.

Before he could so much as twitch, Casey used the hand on his shoulder to spin Chuck around, facing off with him toe-to-toe. “Seriously?! My trophies? That’s the best you could come up with? Christ, if I woulda let you keep yammering, you were seconds away from telling her you like the fucking wallpaper.” Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, Casey shook him – not hard, but enough to get his eyes up front. “Pull your head out, Bartowski.”

“Wait a damn minute here, Major.” Chuck tried to remove his hand, but that only made Casey twist the fabric, digging into the tender skin at his neck. “Ow. Okay, retract that – but it wasn’t me that got us into this –”

“Listen to me.” Casey’s expression was rough intent, his lips a hairsbreadth away. “You need to improve your cover by the factor of a thousand. Now,” he warned, his voice low, stern. “I’m not gonna let you blow this op with my family. Capiche? And by that, I mean I want to see you nod your head at me.”

Chuck scanned his flinty demeanor – not that he had a choice otherwise, with Casey two inches away – and fought his surge of nerves. Being this close to Casey when he was this pissed was never safe. The muscles along his arms were taut ropes ready to snap his neck, no doubt, and his teeth could crush rock to bits the way they were grinding together.

Swallowing hard, the kid nodded.

Under the undeniably daunting stare, Casey slowly disengaged each finger one by one. Even when he smoothed Chuck’s shirt front, it came off as menacing. “Good,” he said. “You stick with the new cover.”

“You could’ve warned me about them,” Chuck insisted, careful to back up a step. “That I was going to get tag-teamed by your mother and sister. They should be working for the freaking CIA!”

“I said keep it down.” Casey unzipped his bag and lifted out a stack of shirts. “Mother’s going to wonder why you’re yelling at your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. Chuck plopped down on the bed and buried his head in his hands. “Oh my God oh my God….” he muttered, rocking slightly, which reminded him of a stereotypical crazy person, so he stopped. “My cover is the boyfriend of the scariest person I’ve ever met.”

Casey just grunted, and maybe it was his imagination, but Chuck swore he heard a dry snicker under the surface. “Hold it together, moron,” Casey told him. “Don’t you screw this up.”

“Moron?” Chuck lifted his head to glare at his newly-minted boyfriend. “You know, John,” he said, knowing that would irk him. “Moron isn’t a nice way to address your significant other, is it? Especially with Mother Casey right on the other side of the door.”

Casey’s entire body tensed at the mention of his mother, and he rounded on him. “You forget the rules already, Bartowski?”

“Rules?!” Chuck sniped, standing up but keeping his distance. “Those rules were in affect when I was still an enlisted friend. I hate to tell you this, but they went out the window when we became life partners, Casey!”

“Hell, no, they didn’t.” Casey tossed aside a shirt he was folding and took a step closer to him. “If you think I’m gonna let you –”

“Johnnie?” The rapping of knuckles on the door was immediately followed with a head poking in. Maggie’s gaze drifted from Chuck to his ‘boyfriend’, quirking a smile at them. “You decent?”

Casey recovered first, eyes narrowing with a perturbed look at his sister. “Do ya mind, Mags? Knock and wait for Chrissakes.” While Chuck blinked at her, an arm the size of a tree trunk wrapped around his waist. Casey tugged, and the next thing Chuck felt was a warm chest pressed up to his shoulder. He had to bite down on his lips hard to cut off the yelp when a hand gently rubbed up his back. Casey added slyly, “We coulda been working off some jet lag in here, eh?”

Working off …? A meep escaped before Chuck could stop it.

Maggie just looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Johnnie, you’re embarrassing the hell out of him.” Nodding at Chuck, she shouldered past them and dropped a stack of towels and a Reader’s Digest on the bed. “Besides, Mom’s waiting for you, so you might want to take a rain check until lights out, if you know what I mean.” A suggestive wink made Chuck’s mouth drop open.

Casey ignored it. “What’s that?” he asked, surveying the pile she had left on the bed.

“I told Mom that your friend would be staying in your bedroom, but she insisted I make up the guest room until we could talk to you.” Maggie smirked at both of them and spruced up the top blanket. “Looks like I was right.” On the way out, she reached up and patted Chuck’s cheek, making him jerk backwards in surprise. “Let John know if you need anything else,” Maggie said, and cocking a brow at them, she closed the door.

Chuck looked down at the stack, eyes going wide. “Wait a minute,” he said, feeling his heart rate taking off like a jackhammer. “Does this mean … are you saying … am I sleeping in the same bed with you?!”

Casey folded his arms over his chest in a way that made them bulge even larger and gave him a bland once-over. “What did you expect, Bartowski?” he said, no trace of irony in his voice. “Didn’t you just tell them we’ve been dating for over a year?”

“Well … yes, I guess, but what does that –”

“Jesus, kid. Do you really think if we’d been dating for a year that I wouldn’t have railed you by now?”

“Railed?! What does that even mea – mmph!” That was as far as he got before a meat hook shot up like a bullet and slapped over his mouth. Seeing that he had no choice, Chuck choked down the words and gaped at Casey over his hand.

“Keep it down,” Casey ordered between clenched teeth, darting a look at the door. “My mother’s not deaf, you know.”

Chuck locked both hands around the larger man’s wrist and pulled. When it didn’t budge, Casey just shook his head at him, gave him one more look of warning, and let his palm fall.

“Was that really necessary?” Chuck used the back of his hand to wipe his lips, scowling at him for the incursion over his mouth. “I don’t believe this.” He turned his attention to the bed and put on a stubborn look. “Can’t you tell them we’re taking it slow? That we’re old fashioned?”

Casey snorted in derision. “Taking it slow? That isn’t taking it slow – that would make us monks, for fuck sakes.”

“Mon –! Oh my God … this is crazy.” Chuck shoved a hand through his hair and began pacing again. “You’re crazy.” Another lap and he stopped dead in his tracks. “And for the record, are you going to be grabbing me every time someone sees us together?!”

Casey gave him a bored look and went back to emptying out his suitcase. “Can you try to be professional, Bartowski,” he said, dismissing his protest, but he stopped to let his steely eyes pierce into him. “Gotta sell it.”

“Well, I’m sorry not everyone can be a superspy like you, Casey,” Chuck griped. He flopped down on the bed, letting out a huff, and watched the agent neatly refolding his shirts. “You’ve done this before with an asset – I mean, I heard what your sister implied.” Adjusting a pillow behind his back, the kid moved the stack of towels out of the way. “But me? I’m still new to all of this, so if you could ratchet down the bullying and overall sarcasm, I would –”

“Wasn’t an asset.”

“– appreciate it. Forgive me if I’ve never had to pretend to be someone’s boyfriend, let alone someone as terrifying as – …. hmm?” Chuck sat up on his elbows and slanted him a confused look. From the tightening of Casey’s jaw and the way he went on fastidiously folding the shirts, it was obvious Intel was going to be … sketchy. He regarded his handler, and delicately pressed on. “Did you say …?”

“He wasn’t an asset.” Casey shrugged, next pulling out a pair of jeans.

“But when Maggie said ‘cuter than the other one’, which was complimentary I suppose except for the fact she was inspecting the top of my head, well, I guess I thought – Oh.” Chuck cleared his throat. “Oh. I see.”

A piece of lint on a shirt caused Casey to give it a good flap. Satisfied, he rifled around in the bag until he found his shaving kit and tossed it on the bed. “Hand me one of those towels.”

“O-kay.” After a few seconds, Chuck succeeded in closing his mouth and catching a breath. Dark eyes tracked up Casey’s arms to his chest, crossing over his face. The implacable expression didn’t bend. “I guess…” Chuck said, fidgeting with the blanket, “I never …. What about … Ilsa?”

Casey shrugged again, as calm and composed as Chuck was bowled over. Methodically, he took an extra box of ammo out of his duffle and hid it in a drawer. “God, no one in hell is that naïve,” he said under his breath. Turning back to his bag, he gave a fleeting look at Chuck’s baffled face and rolled his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Chuck asked.

“Come on, Bartowski, you were friends with Bryce Larkin of all people. You’d certainly know if someone was switch hitting at the plate. That little prick had to have a pretty high slugging percentage on both sides of the ball.”

“Sl-slugging percentage?” Chuck’s brows wrinkled as he watched Casey put his shirts in a drawer. “I … are we talking about baseball?”

The agent lifted his head and paused, studying him like an undiscovered species that had just waltzed into his bedroom. ”Jesus H. Christ,” he said. “Strike the whole naïve comment, eh?”

“But I think if I’m going to be your cover boyfriend, then I have the right to know –” The words died in his throat when Casey came around the side of the bed, using his height and bulk to dole out some intimidation. Lowering his face, the agent looked him straight in the eyes. “Rule Two slip your mind, kid?”

“N-no … not at all,” Chuck managed, biting back the urge to ask another dozen questions. There was no right answer when Casey was like this. “I’ll just lay here and –”

“Hey boys.”

“Gah.” Again. Chuck coughed as a piece of saliva got stick in his windpipe. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting –”

“What the hell, Maggie.” Casey squared his shoulders and peered at his sister. “Didn’t I just say to knock? Give us a little privacy, will ya?”

Maggie gave him the big sister face and laughed softly. “Get real,” she advised. “You know damn well there’s no such thing as privacy under Mom’s roof.”

A dull, heated flush started creeping up Chuck’s neck as his mind reeled with the bawdy images of the cover groping they would need to maintain. Because in order to sell it, Casey would be feeling him up in more displays of PDA than a seedy airport strip club.

Oh my God.

“You want something?”Casey asked, still standing over him. In a possessive gesture, and maybe one to get her to shuffle off, he hooked a heavy arm around Chuck’s shoulder and began to toy with a lock of hair over his collar. “We were just getting comfortable.”

“Yep, just getting unpacked,” Chuck added, and for an ungodly reason, when Casey’s thumb grazed his neck, his pulse stuttered. Feeling his face turning crimson, he tried to squirm sideways, but the hand in his hair fell to Chuck’s shoulder and hung on firmly. Keep your skinny ass planted right there, it said.

“Well, don’t get too cozy,” Maggie told them, specifically giving her brother a smug look. “Mom says there’s six inches out there already, and she’d like you to clear the drive and porch.”

“Shovel … in the snow?” Chuck asked before Casey could say anything.

Maggie angled her head at him and then looked at her brother. “He is cute, Johnnie.”

Fingers clenched into the delicate curve of his neck, obviously warning him to stuff it before big sis concluded that Casey’s new boy toy was a friggin’ idiot. “Of course, what I meant,” Chuck started, “was that ah –”

“Afraid of a little exercise, Chuck?” Casey responded mildly, though Chuck knew it was killing him to leave off the cynicism. “Nothing like shoveling to get that back in shape.” He squeezed down a little too tight and jiggled his shoulder, making Chuck fight a flinch. “Right, sport?”

Maggie gaped at her brother. “Oh, not him, for God sakes.”

“Heh?”

Maggie had to laugh at his look. “Mother said Chuck is our special guest tonight, and he should come down for some beef stew and cornbread while you shovel. Oh, and Chuck? She wanted to know if Johnnie’s brand of beer is okay, or will he need to go out and get you what you like?”

A low growl emanated from above him. Imperceptivity, the fingers at his collar dug into the sensitive flesh.

“Uh, John’s brand is fine. Th-thank you.”

“Great.” Maggie took a look at her brother and smacked his arm. “Geez, Johnnie,” she admonished. “The jacket he brought is as thin as tissue paper. You really didn’t expect your boyfriend to go outside with that in a snowstorm and shovel, did you?”

Chuck held his breath, waiting for the hand on the curve of his neck to constrict. At the rate this was spiraling, he should’ve opted for the bunker, though it was probably too late to suggest it.

To Chuck’s relief, Casey swiped the bare skin at his neck one more time, and let his hand drop to his side. “Tell Mother,” he said, coolly, “I’ll be right there.”

20 December 2008  
Casey Homestead, John’s boyhood bedroom  
09:24 pm CST

“Is everything okay, kids?” By now, Chuck didn’t even hear a knock. And, he was proud he only jumped a little that time when the door barreled open. “Hope you don’t mind, Johnnie, I took some liberties with your bedroom.” Mother Casey crossed into the room, her eyes lingering on Chuck as he lay in a leggy graceless sprawl over the bed, wearing cotton drawstring pants and a t-shirt. “I brought you another pillow.”

“Oh … another? Th-thank you,” Chuck faltered. The latest interruption had put an end to his musings for now. He had been quietly examining the neat rows of books, team pennants tacked to the wall, and a desk with something perched on it that looked suspiciously like a lava lamp. A shrine to all things John Casey, left in pristine condition by Mother Casey for the triumphant return of her only son. The only item that seemed to be out of place was a sewing machine tucked in the corner – unless Casey had hobbies in his adolescence that he wasn’t willing to divulge.

“Mother, it’s fine, really,” Casey assured her, and a light smile crossed his face. He sat on the bed and began to take his shoes off. “You could actually take down the trophies. Make it your sewing room.”

“Humph.” Mother Casey arched a brow and pointed a faint grin at Chuck. “My hope, actually, was that someday you would get your own house and take this stuff with you.”

Casey dropped the shoe and sat up, slanting a look of warning at Chuck to stay out of this conversation. “It’s not easy, Mother, when my assignments have kept me moving.”

“Oh, I know, honey.” His mother put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “But … you seemed to have found a home in Southern California. What has it been – over a year now? That’s the longest you’ve ever been in once place,” she contended. “Sounds like you’re settling down.”

“Mom, really.” Chuck glanced up to see Casey’s jaw muscle ticking rhythmically. “Do we have to talk about this –“

“All right, I get the hint. I’m embarrassing you in front of your friend.” She gave her son a look of equal parts teasing and resignation. “Time for bed.”

When she pulled the door closed, the awkward silence dragged on for a minute. Finally, Chuck sat up and rested his chin on his knees. “Great,” he muttered. “I’ve been your official cover boyfriend for two hours, and now we’re getting pressure to settle down?”

He looked up to find Casey studying him, and deliberately, the agent leaned over until his face was close enough to smell beef stew and dark ale from dinner. It was warm … not unpleasant. The long, steady look, on the other hand, was meant to rattle him. It did the job. “If Walker even gets one word of this, the Intersect project will go the way of Area Fifty-one. Got it?”

“Area Fif – hey, is there any truth to the –”

“Nod, Bartowski.” Two words. The gruff voice told him now would not be a good time to expound on this.

Chuck slouched back into the pillow. With the enormity of his scary cover boyfriend sucking the air from the room, he finally nodded mutely and changed the subject. “Did your mother say ‘time for bed?’ It’s like, nine-thirty, isn’t it?”

“You’re not in Burbank, Dorothy.” Casey stood up and strolled to the dresser where he had sorted his clothes. “We get up early out here. Mother will have breakfast on the table by six thirty.”

“What?! Are you serious?” Chuck’s voice rose until Casey did the ‘simmer down’ hand movement. “I’m on vacation. I’m not getting up that early.”

“Being my bi-sexual boyfriend a vacation for you, Bartowski?” Casey asked.

“God, is this funny to you?” Still, Chuck’s brows drew down as he thought about it. “Wait, I’m bi-sexual? That’s my cover? I thought you … well, and I was –”

“Finish that sentence and you will be sleeping in the trunk.”

Chuck’s mouth snapped shut. He was certain Casey would follow through on his threat.

“I hope you were done using the can,” Casey mentioned off-hand, changing into his bedclothes. “Maggie’s in there, so it’s off limits for the next half hour or so.”

“Good … good to know.” Risking a glance at the larger man, he was yanked from his thoughts of freezing to death inside the car as Casey padded to the bed wearing only flannel sleep pants.

Whoa. He had never seen Casey without his shirt, so when the agent turned to take off his watch, Chuck let his eyes drift over his shoulders, wide chest, to his stomach. He watched as he put a hand on his neck and stretched, the hard muscles bunching and rolling down his arms and back, pale skin with swells and dips. Even like this, he was all restrained power, yet primed and lethal.

Not that he didn’t know it already, but his protector was one bad ass brute.

“What are you looking at?” Casey asked, suddenly staring down at him.

“Oh.” Crap. Busted. “Um,” Chuck hedged, wetting his throat. “You don’t wear a shirt to bed?”

“I get hot.” Casey pulled back the blankets and stood there, letting him get an eyeful. “You got a problem with that, Bartowski?”

“No, no … not really.” Chuck tugged on a cover and made himself look up at the ceiling. “It’s just … I’m freezing to death and you don’t have a shirt on.”

“I know how to make my heat.” Casey scratched his chest absently, then slipped beneath the covers and flicked off the lamp. “You don’t expect my mother to turn up the furnace for your pansy-ass bones, do ya?”

“You know, Casey,” Chuck grumbled. “I should remind you, I don’t think that’s any way to talk to you boyfriend.” Sighing, he rolled over with his back facing Casey. A few seconds later, Chuck recoiled when a thigh slid along his leg, and he realized it was Casey positioning himself under the blankets. The heat that poured off of him was no joke. The man was a natural blast furnace of warmth. Relaxing his back and shoulders, Chuck scooted backwards just barely an inch or two to soak in more of his body temperature.

“Casey?”

“Hmm.”

“Sherman?”

Chuck could feel the bed move as Casey looked over at him in the dark. “Nickname” he said. “Ever hear of the World War II tank? Let’s just say, by the time I was fifteen, I wasn’t a little kid anymore.”

“Huh. Something tells me that’s an understatement. Sherman.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t have any annoying nicknames?”

“Casey, think about it. My name is Chuck.”

“Point, Bartowski.” There was a pause. “Kid?”

“Hmm?”

“It goes without saying, but there’s a Rule Five now. If I wake up and you’re spooning me,” Casey told him, the low burr of his voice cutting through the dark, “Well, just remember, I do sleep with a loaded weapon.”

Chuck lay awake for another hour, not daring to move, while he tried to interpret the dirty chuckle Casey had tacked on to the end of that.

21 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
07:50 am CST

The sound of a vacuum cleaner whirring somewhere on the first level of the house woke Chuck with a start. He blinked, wiping his bleary eyes, and immediately noticed that Casey was gone. The rumpled covers still radiated warmth from his blistering body heat. Nice. Chuck stretched into the space to relish it and let his consciousness slowly come back online.

What time was it? Tipping his head to look at the night table, he squinted at the alarm clock. Well, either Casey was only trying to get a rise out of him about the early wake up call, or someone had decided to take pity on him. Until the vacuum started up, that was.

He rose, groaning at losing the body-warmed bed. Wandering over to his bag, he rooted around until he found a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Chuck had not bothered with the meticulous unpacking ritual Casey had the night before, so the clothes did look rather wrinkly, even to him. Oh, hell. He raked his hands through his waves, trying to smooth them down, and wondered how he could have slept so soundly for his hair to look like that? He gave up on it for now and padded into the bathroom. A few minutes later, he felt he looked semi-presentable at least, and followed the scent of bacon down the stairs and into the kitchen.

As he cautiously rounded the corner, he heard two female voices chatting in hushed tones. Chuck stood at the doorway sheepishly and mustered up a smile. “Um, hi,” he said, a little uneasy when he noticed there was no sign of Casey. “I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything. I’ll, uh, just go find –”

Maggie sprung up from her chair and latched onto his arm before he could move. “Don’t be ridiculous. We were just waiting for you to get up – wait. The vacuum didn’t wake you, did it?” God, that woman had a grip, but why would he be surprised about that?

“No, no, no … I was just uh – oh.” His rear end was shoved into one of the chairs and a plate of pancakes and bacon mysteriously appeared under his nose.

“I told him not to wake you up and to leave you some food, too. ‘Bout had to wrestle it off his plate,” Mother Casey remarked. “I hid it in the oven to keep it warm. Coffee?”

“I can get that,” Chuck started out of the chair, but Maggie’s hand was on his shoulder, ensuring his butt stayed planted. “You’re still our guest. Well, Johnnie’s guest.” She bit down on her lip and shot a look at her mother. “We thought we could get to know you a little better without you-know-who hanging around.”

Chuck tensed and felt his throat go dry. Oh, shit. Where the hell was Casey?! Why would he leave him at the mercy of the female Caseys? These women were bulldogs. “Th-there’s really nothing much to say,” the kid stuttered.

“Huh. Really.” The red head slid into the chair next to him and took a sip of her coffee. “How did you say you met Johnnie?” she asked.

“Margaret, let him eat.” Chuck nearly choked on a mouthful of pancake when a finger came down to his side and poked his ribs. “He’s skinny as a rail.”

Not sure how to reply to that, the kid forked in another huge bite. Maggie let him finish in peace while listening to her mother make polite talk about the amount of snow on the ground and wondering if Danny and Andrew were on the road yet.

“Who’s that?” Chuck blurted before he could stop it.

They both turned and tilted their heads at him. “He never mentioned his brother-in-law or his nephew?” Mother Casey put her hands on her hips. “The entire time you’ve been together?”

“Um.” Oh, Jesus. “He’s, uh, very private. He doesn’t really share a lot about – and you know, maybe he mentioned it, and I forgot.” Chuck tapped his head in a self-deprecating way and forced a weak smile. “My brain sometimes … forgets details.”

Inwardly, Chuck cringed at the odd look each woman pinned on him. Great. He could just hear Casey chiming in about everything that was wrong with his brain in addition to the Intersect.

Taking a long drink from his coffee, Chuck pushed his plate away and managed to stand up before Maggie could strong arm him again. “Speaking of the big guy, where is he … exactly?”

“He went out to the garage. Out back with Belle.” Mother Casey wiped her hands on a dish cloth and tipped her head towards the back porch. “He should be in soon. Why don’t you have another –”

“With Belle? Maybe I should get out there.” Chuck was already two steps towards the back door. “See if he needs me to help.”

“What?” Maggie scanned his face and bolted upright. “That big idiot told you about Belle, and didn’t happen to mention Danny and Andrew? Mother! Did you hear that?”

“Oh, well, I meant to imply….” Backing up, Chuck scrambled blindly behind his back for the doorknob. “I should really see what –”

“Wait. For Chrissakes.” Mother Casey shook her head at him like he was a few quarters short of a dollar. It looked jarringly familiar. “You can’t go out there without a coat. Here.” She reached into the coat rack near the door and flung aside a few until she found what she was looking for. “Take this.” Casey’s mother held out a saddle colored field coat with a tan and black plaid lining.

Obediently, Chuck took it from her. The coat was worn but soft, heavy enough to keep the wind from crawling down his neck. “Thanks, Mrs. –”

“Ah-ah.”

“Mother Casey.” Like Casey needed another reason to kick his ass, but at least this time, he was out of earshot.

“Whoa. Not so fast.” The kid’s feet came to halt just as he was turning the knob. Mother Casey held out two portable coffee mugs and quickly filled them to the brim. “Take this to your boyfriend, eh?” She winked.

Chuck smiled a little frantically, grabbed the mugs, and fled.

21 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Belle’s garage.  
09:04 am CST

“I have a new rule.” His back landed on the door with a thump and he closed his eyes, waiting to hear Casey’s scratchy voice in reply.

“They got ya, huh?” Casey sounded amused.

The kid lay flat to the surface behind him and waited for his steady panting to even out. He had sprinted through the backyard to get away from the house – well, as fast as he could sprint through an ungodly foot of snow while wearing black Chucks and balancing two travel mugs of coffee. “Why,” he stopped to swallow, “Did you not warn me!”

“Warn you?”

“Yes, dammit!” Chuck’s eyes sprung open and he got his first good look at Casey’s smirk. “Your sister is a viper!”

Casey chuckled wryly as he bent down to dig through a rusty tool box. “I should kick your ass for that, Bartowski, considering you’re talking about my big sister.” He took out a screwdriver and stood to his full height, eyeing him. “But, I happen to agree that she can be that way.” His smirk faded as he twirled the screwdriver in his fingers a few times, and something shifted in his eyes. “Just remember: she’s only being protective of me. Wants to make sure you’re not some damn fly-by-night kid going for a joy ride.”

“What?! I would never do that to you!” Wide-eyed at the ten different ways that sounded just wrong, Chuck slapped a hand up to his mouth. And reddened violently.

Across the room, Casey looked up from the tool box and raised a brow in the kid’s direction. “Bartowski, why don’t you just tell me what you think the new rule is before you hurt yourself over there.”

Chuck slowly let his palm drop to his side. “Okay. Fair enough.” He took a sip out of one of the travel mugs. “You cannot, under any circumstances, leave me alone with those women,” he announced flatly.

“Did they bring out the thumb screws?”

“Uh, no?”

“Fifty thousand watt spotter and tie you to a chair?”

“I think I would’ve noticed that.” Chuck replied, getting perturbed.

“Still got both your snow globes?”

“What?”

“Your nuggets. The boys?”

The kid grimaced at the visual image that had stirred up. “Very funny.”

Casey snorted. “Then consider yourself lucky.” He tipped his head towards him. “One of those for me?”

“Oh. Yes.” The talk of lopped off cojones had distracted Chuck and he had almost forgotten about the coffee. “Here. For my boyfriend,” he offered with a trace of sarcasm.

“Did you remember that I like it black?”

“Thank God she didn’t ask. I already … well, the cover isn’t stone clad, you know. You could’ve told me about Danny and Andrew.” Chuck folded his arms over the field jacket. “So, I had to pretend you mentioned Belle. Who is that, by the way?”

“Shit.” Casey laughed under his breath and knelt down to fish through the tool box for something else. “That pissed her off.”

“Well, newsflash, buddy. If we’ve been dating for over a year, don’t you think you would’ve mentioned them?”

“Heh.” Casey picked up a wrench and said nothing after that. Annoyed at the brush off, Chuck stepped away from the door and scraped the snow off his soggy Chucks. On the bright side, it gave him his first opportunity to gaze around the outbuilding and find out what had Casey so engrossed at the moment.

The night before, he had mistakenly thought the structure was a small barn, but now he could see it was a garage. A neatly ordered one, too, by the looks of it. A wide wooden tool bench stretched along one wall, with a peg board above it that held hand tools and gadgets. A display of faded license plates, chipped paint blurring the letters and numbers, was lined on the wall. The most welcoming sight was a small iron wood stove in the corner that had a blazing fire, spreading warmth that seeped into his bones.

Not bad for a Boy Scout, Casey, Chuck thought – because, like a good fledgling spy, he had already checked out the vest with dozens of badges, still stashed in the closet while Casey was out shoveling. The agent’s past exploits in Den 328 were forgotten at the moment, however, since Chuck was too busy gaping.

Holy Death Star. In the center of the garage, perched like the Queen Mary on dry dock, was longest, sleekest whopper of a car that Chuck had ever seen in his life. Next to the Crown Victoria, this baby was the more bloated, shinier step sister.

Chuck put a hand in his pocket and took a tentative step forward. “What,” he asked warily, “is that?”

“Belle.” The puzzled look on Chuck’s face earned the ‘why do I have to explain this shit’ expression from his handler. “More specifically, she’s a 1962 Ford Galaxie 500XL convertible. V-8 engine, four oh five horse power, two barrel carburetor … thirty-eight hundred pounds of good ol’ American steel.” He whistled between his teeth and eyed her, quiet for a minute, before squinting at the kid. “Nothing like that pussy-ass car you drive, Bartowski. You get behind the wheel of this, and you know you’re riding something.”

Chuck had to suppress a cough in his hand. “Nice Casey. I like how my manhood is snubbed because of the car I drive.”

“What nerd planet have you been residing on?” Casey asked. Before Chuck could open his mouth, the agent nodded towards the driver’s seat. “Get in. Make yourself useful.”

“You’re letting me drive it?”

Casey just stared at him. “Hell, no, you’re not driving it. But I think I know why it won’t turn over, and if I asked you to keep the distributor cap open with this screwdriver – yeah, that’s exactly the look I expected. So, get your ass in there, and when I say when, you can carefully turn the key.” He turned around and ducked under the hood, fiddling with something. “Can you handle that, Intersect?”

Chuck frowned at his back, though it didn’t do a lick of good since Casey was already twisting something and not paying attention to him. He started to come around to the driver’s side, but it struck the kid right then that he had almost never witnessed his handler doing something that could be considered routine. Casey was built for raiding a terrorist compound, or leading an off-the-books rebellion to thwart an oppressive dictator… so Chuck halted behind Casey to study the broadest back he’d ever slept with. One hand was holding the hood over his head, arm muscles locked tight while he leaned over the engine. He had taken off his coat and tossed it on the workbench, and a rag was stuck in the back pocket of his jeans.

“You gonna stand there all day or are you gonna get in?” Casey didn’t even turn around. “Don’t need to maintain the cover of boyfriend and check out my ass when no one’s here kid,” he snickered softly.

Chuck blinked and looked up, recovering before Casey could look over his shoulder. “Hilarious, but I guess I was right,” he sniffed, meandering over to the front of the car. “Being around your family does put you in a cheerful mood.”

Casey growled at the insinuation he actually had moods. “Not until I say go,” he told him, nodding. “Keys are in the ignition already.”

“I think I can handle it from here.” Chuck slid into the seat and let his eyes drift over the controls. Retro wasn’t the half of it. There was something down-to-earth in the mechanical simplicity of a push button AM/FM radio. Reaching over, he started to press one of the buttons.

“Don’t touch a damn thing,” he heard over the hood.

Chuck rolled his eyes and leaned back in the seat, waiting for the signal. “What’s so special about this car?”

“Dad’s car,” he heard Casey say.

“He kept it all this time?” Chuck checked out the steel paneled dashboard and stick gearshift. “It’s kinda cool, actually.” Hesitating, he bit down on his bottom lip and decided to plow ahead. “Is your dad around?”

There was only a silence on the other side of the raised hood for a minute, and the kid was fairly certain he had crossed the murky line between needing to know for the cover and ‘none of your damn business’.

“Cancer. Back in ninety-eight.”

Instantly, Chuck’s face fell and he regretted saying anything. In part because of the awful truth, and in part because Casey had to tell him. “I’m … sorry. “ It was feeble, but he hoped Casey could hear he meant it.

“Yeah, well, me too.” Chuck couldn’t see Casey’s expression, but his voice had reverberated in the tiny garage. A long moment dragged by until he poked his head around the dusty maroon colored hood. “Okay. Try to start it.” It took a few tries, the motor whirring and coughing, but the classic convertible surged to life. “Rev it. Okay, it’s not your big boy bike, a little easier on the gas,” Casey added. With a hum of satisfaction, he closed the hood and came around to the driver’s side. “Scoot.”

“Are we taking it out?” Chuck wondered.

“Seriously, Bartowski? There’s a foot of snow out there.” Casey slid into the seat and Chuck scooched to make room, just as the service door of the garage swung open.

“Ga – Oh.”

“Christ, Bartowski. Jumpy as a virgin in a brothel,” Casey mumbled, but Chuck picked up on a hint of humor. The NSA agent raised his voice. “Hey, Ma, you’re going to freeze out here.”

“Just thought I’d check on you.” Mother Casey stood at the entrance with a thick sweater wrapped around her. “Get her started?”

“Not too bad, either, this time. You need us for something?”

Chuck made a move to slide over the bench seat as they chatted, but Casey anticipated this. “Nuh-uh, kid,” he breathed, and Chuck nearly jumped out of his skin when his long fingers wrapped around his knee and clutched it to keep him close. Casey settled in and stretched his legs – and a blush bloomed on Chuck’s cheeks when their thighs pressed up together. Was Casey going to grab him every time his family walked in the room? Chuck swallowed. After the next six days, he hoped to hell Sarah Walker didn’t dust him for John Casey’s fingerprints at the de-briefing.

“You two look so cute there. Do you mind if I run and get the camera, Johnnie?”

“No, no, Ma.” Casey waved her off. “Chuck hasn’t even combed his hair yet.”

Chuck tried to glare at Casey without his mother noticing, but the agent was too busy smirking out the side of his mouth.

“Later then,” she agreed reluctantly. “In the meantime, yes, there is something you can do. There’s another six inches in the road, and Maggie just spoke to Danny. They’re on their way. Hate to have them get stuck in the driveway.”

“We’ll be right on it.”

“We? Not so fast. Chuck is still our guest.”

Chuck grinned and squeezed his boyfriend’s hand. “Besides, John, you just said how much you enjoyed being back home and getting the chance to shovel snow, remember? I’d hate to take away the fun.” Ow. The kid had to repress a wince when Casey moved his hand over Chuck’s and his fingers clamped down like a vise.

“Huh. I remember that.” Casey turned his head and his eyes narrowed. “That was when you said you’d like to help out while you were here.” He shifted in the seat, getting comfortable, and squeezed again. “Mother, I bet you’d like that cord of wood next to the garage to get stacked on the back porch. You know, so that we can have fires this week without traipsing through the snow.”

“That would be wonderful. That is, if Chuck doesn’t mind.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ma,” Casey said pleasantly, fingers scrunching Chuck’s hand when he instinctively opened his mouth. “He said he needs the exercise.”

“Thanks, Chuck.” Then she murmured, “Charming and sweet. Well, don’t stay out here too long.” Just as she pulled the door closed, she shot them a sly wink.

“Wow. Thanks, big guy,” the kid said, now that they were alone again. “Though, at least if I’m outside working, I don’t have to worry about another onslaught of – hold on. That wink. Was that …?” Chuck’s eyes flared wide and he sucked in a gasp. “Your mother … thinks we’re going to …?”

“Make-out? Yeah, probably.” Casey glanced into the palatial back seat. “Hell. No privacy in the house.”

“Oh my God oh my God.” Chuck brought up the hand that Casey wasn’t holding and shoved it through his untidy curls. “You’re family …. they are just cra –.”

“Just … what, Bartowski.” The agent’s hand clenched down reflexively, sending a quiet threat through his knuckles. “You got a problem with my family?”

“Can you let go of my hand now?” Chuck tried to untangle his fingers. “She’s gone.”

“Answer.” Another clench.

“Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have …”

“Damn straight, you shouldn’t have.” Casey took his time letting go of his hand. “New rule. I can criticize them … tell them to go to hell. You, on the other hand?” He cut the engine and looped the keys into his palm, staring him down. “Cork it.”

“Wow. I thought having you for my handler was complicated before yesterday. But you know what? Being your cover boyfriend … just so you know, it brings this quagmire to a whole new level of intricacy.”

Casey just grunted and pushed the door open, careful not to get fingerprints where he had just swabbed her with the chamois. “Get over it, Bartowski,” he said, squelching him before it could get rolling. “Oh, one more thing.”

Chuck let out a weary long breath. “Now what?”

Without an answer, Casey splayed a heavy palm on the top of his head and mussed up his hair roughly, as if the pillow head mess wasn’t enough. Another hand shot out and pinched the bare skin above his collarbone, giving it a little twist at the end.

“Ow!” Chuck rubbed his abused neck, and those dark eyes went darker. “What was that for?!”

Casey shrugged, nonchalant. “Don’t want Mother to think she was wrong,” he said.

-x-End Meet the Kin Chapter Three-x


	4. Chapter Four

Meet the Kin – a Twisted Tale of Christmas (Chapter Four)

Oh, the weather outside is frightful,  
But the fire is so delightful,  
And since we've no place to go,  
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. 

\- Sammy Cahn, Jule Styne, 1945

21 December 2008  
Casey Homestead.  
011:42 am CST 

One good look at that spectacle, and he would bet his ass Beckman would not approve of the current operational parameters. 

Casey wasn’t referring to the cover. Oh, hell no. For that little gem of inventiveness, she would’ve patted him on the head and told him ‘Way to think on his feet’, coming up with a story that keeps the asset close. Very close. 

No, what the General would take issue with is that at this very second, the precious Intersect was balancing precariously on a step ladder over the stairs to the basement, while attempting to change a light bulb. A fucking light bulb. Attempting because the lean required to even come close to the socket was a good five feet from the landing, which meant the kid had to stretch over the stairs leading to the basement like a damn Gumby doll. 

What the hell, Bartowski. One slip and a national treasure becomes a splotch on his mother’s staircase. God, try explaining to Beckman how he let that happen under his watch. And if that wasn’t reckless enough for the Intersect’s safety, Casey’s seventy-eight-year-old mother was clinging to his shirt from the back and pulling in order to offset the balancing act.

“Should I call the ambulance now or count to ten first?” Casey deadpanned, shrugging off his coat. 

“Oh, there you are, honey. Just in time. Get over here and hold onto Chuck so he doesn’t fall down the stairs.” Mother signaled with her head. Her hands were a little busy at the moment. 

“Do I even want to know?” the agent wondered, eyeing him from head to toe.

“Your mother was on the ladder trying to change this,” Chuck replied, arcing forward another inch. The ladder moved like a rocking boat beneath him, wobbling under his weight. “A long reach does come in handy, you know.”

“Jesus, mother. Could you have waited at least?” Casey shouldered her aside gently. “I can get this. You shouldn’t be on the damn ladder.”

“That’s okay. My knight in shining armor arrived and offered to help.” She flashed a smile at Chuck’s back, right when the ladder tipped on one leg and the kid had to jerk sideways to regain balance.

“Crap….”

“Johnnie! Hold him or he’s going to fall.” 

What Mother didn’t need to know was that he hasn’t dropped the nerd yet, despite the vast numbers of opportunities to do so.

“Gah! Wh-what –” If the shaky ladder leaning to the side made the kid jolt, then the feel of large hands clamping down hard on both sides of his waist nearly caused a free fall down the stairs. He could feel every muscle in Chuck’s body go taut with tension. “What are you doing with your –?” 

“Trying to stop you from cracking your head open, sunshine,” Casey responded, being sure to emphasize the tail end of that. “Can’t have you hurt yourself, can we?”

“C-can you please … your hands are on my – ah.” Chuck gave him a helpless look over his shoulder and started to protest, but Casey broke that off by digging his fingers into Chuck’s hips, a move that said ‘Stick to the cover’. Surprisingly, he got the message. Chuck blinked down at him and managed to steady himself. “I’m … well, I … thank you, pooh bear,” he said. “But I think I’m ready to come down now.”

Casey sucked in a breath; his muscles along his shoulders went rigid. Oh hell, no, you don’t, kid. When Chuck climbed off the last rung and turned around to a point a victorious grin at Mother Casey, the agent leaned into the kid and put a hand on his waist, breathing words that only Chuck could hear. “Use it again, and you get a size thirteen in your ass.” 

Heh. Let him tumble that one around under that mop head of his. 

Casey watched, satisfied, when the triumphant smile turned panicked. He could see Chuck’s throat bob in that nervous way of his as he tried to wet his lips. “All set,” Chuck stammered, and he flicked the switch off. Then, he attempted to wriggle out from the hold on his waist, shifting automatically to the side.

Fuck. Really, kid? The nerd knows zilch about maintaining a cover. Casey’s arm bent tighter, easing around his back and tugging him until their thighs touched. Stay the hell where you are.

Chuck pursed his lips and whispered out the side of his mouth, “Let go of -–”

“Everything okay, boys?” Mother wondered as she took the bulb from the kid. 

“Fine, Ma.” Casey squeezed him closer until Chuck was pressed right up against his chest. He heard the kid intake a quick breath. “Aren’t we, sport.” 

“We’re f-fine. Yes, everything’s peachy-kee – ah.”

“Chuck, you look like you’re freezing,” Mother observed. “Why don’t you go stand by the fire?”

Casey slanted a look towards the living room to see a small blaze crackling in the brick fireplace. “I could’ve done that for you, Ma.”

“No need, Johnnie.” Mother took the empty coffee mugs off the countertop and stacked them up in the sink. “I had Chuck here to help me. He started the fire.” She graced him with a brilliant smile, which made Chuck give up his quiet struggle to free himself and return the grin.

Casey narrowed his eyes at the kid. “Really.” The agent had been mildly impressed five minutes earlier when he got to the back door and leaned the shovel against the neatly stacked cord of wood – Chuck’s handiwork lined up in rows, and now, he had a fairly decent fire going. “Not bad, Bartowski,” Casey grumbled, a remote acquiescence to his asset. 

“Go get warm,” Mother said, shooing them out of the kitchen.

“No more ladders, Ma. You need to promise.” 

“Okay, okay, just take your friend over to the fire. Oh, do you need some more coffee, Johnnie?” 

He held up his hand. “No, Ma. If I need some, Chuck can make it.” Before Chuck could open his mouth, Casey steered them into the living room. No Mags in sight. He let his arm drop from the kid’s waist as he moved over to the fire.

A pair of wet socks and waterlogged black Chucks were already sitting on the slate tile in front of the blaze. Chuck shifted to stand in front of the flames, lifting his bare feet one at a time and wiggling his toes. It did feel good, so Casey slid in next to him and held out his hands to the warmth. 

“I wish you’d warn me or something before you just grab on, you know,” Chuck said, sounding perturbed.

Casey rubbed his hands together and just gave him a smirk. “Seems to me you’d welcome someone grabbing your ass, eh, kid? Before your little fling with Jill, it had been … what? Five years since someone infiltrated that border?”

“Nice, Casey.” Chuck rolled his eyes and turned around to warm his backside. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“The look on your face is worth it, Bartowski.” Casey grunted. “Besides, the way Ma and sis keep barging in, it seems to be sharpening up those pathetic reflexes of yours.” 

Chuck turned to give him a dirty look, lifting another bare foot. “Well, that makes the whole trip worthwhile,” he said, brittle. “You know, for the entertainment value I can provide by amusing you while I squirm. Oh, and the cheap – as in free – manual labor I can supply to your family.”

Casey snorted and muscled his way closer to the heat. Shoulder to shoulder, they said nothing for a few minutes, content to stand in the glow and watch the fire. Chuck's fire. The nerd wasn't completely inept, he thought.

“I should go upstairs and change,” Chuck finally huffed to himself. “These jeans are soaked, thanks to the twenty-five trips back and forth from the side of the garage to the porch.”

“Chuck, did you say your pants are wet?” Both men turned towards the entry to the living room, Casey instinctively a bit calmer than Chuck. Mother Casey stood there, holding a basket loaded with laundry. 

“Ah … my pants?” Chuck flicked a desperate glance at Casey and blinked at her. “Uh, well, they got a little –”

“Hand ‘em over.” Mother Casey snapped her fingers expectantly. “Let’s go.”

Casey watched as Chuck stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s go ….?” he repeated, taking a tentative step backwards. A second passed before his brows flew up, right about the time he grasped what Mother expected him to do. “Are you serious … because, I don’t think this –”

Escape was impossible at this point, Casey figured. His eyes shifted from his mother, wearing her ‘Take no prisoners’ face, to his bewildered asset, who was still trying to back away from her. 

Yeah, this ought to be good. 

“Your pants.” Casey’s mom waggled her fingers at him. “I’m starting a load, and you cannot traipse around the house in those. Strip.”

“You heard her,” Casey broke in helpfully, stepping aside to give him some room. “I’d listen, too. Mother doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“But … I … I can’t just –right here?” He gave Casey a frantic look.

“I’ll turn around.” She set the basket down, put her hands on her hips, and pivoted on her heel. “Toss them in the basket, honey.”

Now that she had her back to them, Chuck mouthed sharply to Casey, “Do something!”

So, hell, he did. “I’d hurry up if I were you.” Casey tipped his chin at the hardwood floor. “Ma sees those drips and it’ll be your ass.” He cracked another smirk when the blood drained out of Chuck’s face. “Besides, princess, it’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

Mother Casey shushed him by waving a hand over her shoulder. “Stop teasing, Sherman. Let’s go, Chuck. I want to get this load started.”

Chuck scrubbed his hands through his hair, letting out a groan of embarrassment. “I really don’t think this is necess –” 

“Pants.” Mother Casey snapped her fingers one more time.

Realizing he wasn’t going to win this stand-off, his shoulder’s sagged and he began to unbutton his jeans. “I hate you,” he whispered to Casey.

Folding his arms over his chest, Casey gave him a smart ass grin. “Don’t let mother hear you say that,” he mouthed.

One last scowl at his boyfriend for good measure, and Chuck shimmied out of the wet jeans. He stood there in his boxers, let out a resigned sigh, and tossed the pants in the basket. 

“Good boy,” Mother Casey pronounced. “Now, you might want to finish warming your bottom and head upstairs, because –”

“’Lo?” a man greeted from the front doorway, shaking off the snow. 

“Gah.” Chuck almost stepped back into the fire, a surprised expression fluttering over his face. “Oh, no.” 

“We made it. At last. Jesus. Snowing like a bitch out there again.” As soon as he said it, he looked down at the young blonde haired boy standing beside him. “Grown-ups can say that, Andy. Don’t you dare let you mother hear it. She’d have my butt in a sling.”

Andrew peered up at his dad through his wire framed glasses and glanced at Casey – and then his eyes landed on the man with no pants trying to shirk behind him. “Who’s that with Uncle?” Andy asked, strolling around his dad to get a better look. “Why is he –”

“Uh, Andrew, hug grandma.” Mother Casey set down the basket and engulfed the little guy in a hug. “About time,” she said, kissing the top of his head. “Your mother’s upstairs. Why don’t you go find her?” She turned to Dan and hugged him next. “Danny-boy. Good to see you.”

It had been three years since Casey had laid eyes his brother-in-law, but the man never changed. Dark hair had a few more streaks of grey, laugh lines a little deeper around his eyes and mouth, but all-in-all he was the same damn guy that had walked his sister down the aisle eighteen years earlier. He came in a package without the bullshit and smart talk; a down-to-earth guy who would share a cigar and beer on the back porch at night, at ease with quiet talk about politics or football.

And he loved Maggie, God help him. That made him okay in Casey’s book. 

Stepping forward, Casey extended his hand. “Danny,” he said simply and nodded at him.

“John,” he replied, shaking his hand. “Thank God you made it this year. Your sister was driving me nuts, thinking that you might back out again.”

Casey made a small noise of disgruntlement, but he had to smile. “Well, now she’s driving me nuts, so consider yourself lucky.” 

Danny moved to the side cautiously, as if Casey didn’t know he was checking out the new boyfriend. Jesus. The look on his face said it all. It was obvious that Maggie had already told Danny that her brother, after a long hiatus, had not only showed up, but had dragged home a friend – a very close friend. 

One furtive glimpse down the length of Chuck’s bare legs to his boxers, and Danny cleared his throat. “And you are ..?”

“Um, hi.” Chuck’s face had gone from white to flaming red. Since the proper etiquette for meeting someone when half naked was sketchy, it looked like the kid settled on an awkward flailing hand in the air disguised as a wave. “I’m … Chuck,” he managed.

“This is John’s new friend,” Mother Casey offered in the way of an explanation, avoiding a look at the kid. “Chuck, this is Maggie’s husband, Danny.”

A little uneasily, he reached out with a hand. “Nice to meet … you, Chuck.” 

“Sorry,” Chuck said, cringing while he took his hand. “Usually, I have pants, but … you see, I was bringing in –”

“Mom took them,” Casey cut in before the kid could stumble along any further. “They got wet.” 

“Oh.” Looking down, Danny took his hand away after a quick shake and attempted to prudently wipe it on his pant leg. He crinkled his brow at Casey. “I see.” 

Dammit. Or in other words, did you bring home a moron? Chuck was his boyfriend, after all. Well, sort of. But he sure as hell didn’t want Dan thinking he was shacking up with a complete idiot. “Long story,” Casey said, cocking his head in the direction of a pair of bare legs and underwear.

“Yes, long story, that I – ah.”

Grabbing the kid accomplished a few things, Casey had discovered. One, it was good for the cover. Two, it usually shut him the hell up. This time, he wrapped an arm around Chuck’s bare waist, his hand dragging along the warm skin and curling around the kid’s middle. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chuck flushing again. 

Casey looked particularly smug and just smiled. “Yeah. Friend,” he said, arm tightening around Chuck to stem the fidgeting. “My new boyfriend, Chuck.”

21 December 2008  
Casey Homestead.  
12:49 pm CST

“Ham and cheese. Sit. Eat.”

“Humph. I’d say on the cover boyfriend scale, that was about a two out of ten,” Chuck noted quietly as he plopped into one of the kitchen chairs. “I have to take away points for all monosyllabic dialogue. Right, muffin?”

The plate landed on the table with a dull thud, making the top slice of bread take a slide. Just as Chuck reached for the sandwich, a large mitt clamped down on his forearm. Casey was getting ready to add a few more of his favorite monosyllabic words of warning, because he sure as hell was not a muffin.

As luck would have it, Mother Casey sashayed in with Andrew on her heels right then. “Sorry, Andrew,” she was saying to her grandson. “I can’t fix it.”

Casey’s gaze shifted to the side and back to Chuck’s face. Heh. Rescued by Mother. “Would you like mayo with that?” he asked politely.

Chuck pointed a blazing smile up at him. “Tomato and lettuce too, if you have it.”

“Anything else, cupcake?” Casey was pleased with himself. He added, ‘You damn well better not ask for mustard’ without even moving his lips.

“Nope, sweetums. That should be it.” 

Casey half-turned and the tomato slipped out of his hand. When he bent down to retrieve it, he gave Chuck a hard stare and mouthed, “Use that one again and I will end you.”

“That’s my Johnnie, always so sweet.” Mother looked up from Andrew’s wheedling face to tap Casey on the butt. “Take good care of him,” she ordered her son, nodding at Chuck with a wink. “We like this one.”

Chuck sat up higher in the chair and stretched his legs out. “You know, on second thought, mustard does sound tasty. Doesn’t it, John?”

At the word ‘mustard’, Casey poked his thumb through the tomato, seeds and pulp squirting out between his fingers. “Anything … else?” It was said in a way that meant that better be it. 

“But grandma, why not?” Andrew asked, breaking in to the conversation. Casey and Chuck turned to hear what they had missed so far. “Maybe I can –”

“Honey, I would let you, but something’s wrong. I have to get Bill’s son over here to look at it.”

“Can I at least –”

“Watch it, kid,” Casey asserted, but he smiled down at him. He then pretended to give the little guy one in the gut, pulled back, and tapped his chin. “Listen to your grandma, eh?” 

“Try that again.” Andrew put up his fists playfully.

So, of course, he had to put the kid in a harmless neck lock and rub his knuckles against his head. “Cool it, champ.” 

In a split second, Casey was drilled with an odd sensation. He felt the heat of a pair of dark eyes on him. The agent turned, and sure enough, Chuck was studying them carefully, a hint of a lop-sided smile on his lips. 

“Sweep the leg, Andy,” Chuck suggested when he realized he had been caught staring. He motioned with a long leg. “C’mon, you can take him.”

Andrew took a swat at his Uncle John, who played along by pretending to take one in the stomach. 

“Boys, you should go outside,” Mother said. “Anyway, I would let you use it, Andrew.” She set down the laundry basket and began sorting. “But something’s wrong. Every time I go into Farmville … well. I was awarded five hungry cows – and it clocked. Or when I tried to harvest a crop, it –”

“… the hell, Mother?” Forgetting the wrestling match, Casey rounded on her, giving his mother an utterly blank look. “What the f – five?”

“Whoa … whoa ….” Chuck dropped his sandwich and sprung out of the chair. “Stand down, Major,” he blurted. “I think I’ve got this covered.” Stepping between them, he smoothed down the front of his shirt with his palm. Casey recognized it as the pocket protector move – when things were about to get nerdy. “Uh, computer problems, Mother Casey?”

“Well … yes.”

Casey just stood there, staring blandly for a few seconds, and then turned to Chuck with a raised brow. “Without the geek-details, Bartowski.”

“Well,” Chuck started, “You see, Farmville is an interactive social networking game that –”

“Enough.” The agent cut him off with a hand in the air. “I don’t want to know. Just get up there and fix the computer.” 

“Chuck can fix computers?” Mother Casey looked up at him, almost in wonder. 

“I’d be happy to take a look at it … if you’d like?”

“He’s got a desk job with the military, Ma.” Casey looked at him and shrugged. “Kid doesn’t get near firepower.”

“Oh?” Mother Casey seemed puzzled at first, but she waved in the general direction of the staircase. “Spare room at the end of the hall, Chuck.”

21 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
05:12 pm CST 

All in all, the day had improved considerably after being forcible de-pantsed by Mother Casey. 

Sure, the thought of the de-pantsing incident in the living room would forever be seared into Chuck’s mind as one of his most mortifying experiences. Which said a lot, considering there were so many humiliations in the competition for that title. 

Chuck had all but fled to the sanctity of the upstairs bedroom that Mother now called her computer room. It made his heart thump as he sat in a place that was ultimately comfortable, where he could be in control. It was the same jolt of adrenaline he felt when he was working in the cage at the Buy More back home. 

Time whizzed, details blurred together while he spent the afternoon cleaning off a slew of viruses, upgrading software, and running diagnostics. 

Not that he was nosy, but you could learn a lot about a person from their computer. Casey talks to his mother on Skype? Huh. Cute, Case. Just as he was getting ready to do some surfing of his own, Chuck broke out of his concentration when he heard a squeak of a floorboard behind him.

“Bartowski.” His handler was resting his shoulder against the doorframe, watching him with an unreadable expression. When he saw Chuck had finally noticed him, Casey pushed off the doorway. How long had he been standing there anyway? “Well?”

“The good news is your Mother will be harvesting her leek crops in no time.”

“The bad?” Casey asked in that low burr of his, staring down at him.

Chuck leaned back in the chair and thought about it. “I guess that is the bad news too.”

That noise. He wasn’t expecting to hear that. Casey had laughed softly. “Get cleaned up for dinner,” he ordered and disappeared, just as quietly as he had snuck in.

Twenty minutes later, after a hot shower and a change of clothes – noticing that the jeans he had stripped out of were neatly folded on his side of the bed – Chuck took his place next to his boyfriend at the table. He wasn’t certain what to expect at his first family dinner with the Caseys, but God, please don’t let him screw this up.

The cozy dining nook was right off the kitchen, the smell from the oven filling the room. Mother Casey sat at the head of the table, fussing over the food and beaming to have her family all around her for once. Across the table from them, Maggie and Danny kept the conversation going about work or Andrew’s new classes at middle school. Casey listened, not adding much of course, but his eyes had an unfamiliar spark of light that told Chuck he was thankful to be home. 

And just like that, Chuck felt a pang, wondering what Ellie was doing with the Awesomes right then.

Not that it was terrible here, he admitted with a brief look around the table. While the family got caught up with each other, Chuck made sure to keep his head down, focusing on the lemon roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes. Who knows? he thought. Maybe they would even forget there was a stranger sharing their meal. Only half-listening to Danny’s explanation of his new role administering grants for the county’s health department, Chuck let himself relax and take his thoughts far away. 

As always, that was a big mistake. 

A heavy silence made him look up to see Casey’s big sister had her inquisitive eyes trained on him. Smiling awkwardly around a bite of food, Chuck felt faintly embarrassed, wondering what he had missed. It took a nudge under the table, courtesy of Casey’s knee, to realize Maggie had asked him a question. 

“So?” Maggie surveyed him over her half empty wine glass that she held in her hand. “How did you two meet?”

Oh, crap … Had they come up with a reasonable story for the cover, because if they did, the kid’s mind was drawing nothing but blanks. Despite a spurt of panic in his gut, Chuck chewed his last bite thoughtfully, giving his brain a spare moment to spin … which was not easy to do since all of the attention at the table was now directed squarely at him. 

A pink glow crawled up his face. “Um,” Chuck replied. “You see ….” 

Maggie leaned forward in her chair. “Well?”

Setting down his fork, Chuck let his eyes drift from Danny’s more laid back interest, to mother and daughter’s more intense curiosity. Thankfully, Andrew had excused himself to watch TV, so the only other person to contend with was Casey.

Oh. But that look? Chuck recognized a fake casual expression pointed at Maggie, but underneath it, his eyes had darkened. Casey shifted a fraction in his seat and lowered his glass of scotch. “We met –”

“No you don’t.” Maggie’s hand flew up to stop him. “I asked Chuck how you met, not you, Johnnie. Let him talk. God knows he’s had to sit here and listen to us for nearly an hour.”

“Oh, no, really.” Chuck’s knife clanged a little too loudly on the side of the plate when he set it down. “Casey tells it much better than I do.” 

“Maggie’s right,” Mother Casey confirmed. “We haven’t heard from Chuck all night. We don’t know anything about him.”

Maggie smiled at her brother. Casey scowled in return, but he bit down on his mouth.

“For example, where are your parents, Chuck?” Casey’s mom leaned around to gauge his reaction. “I haven’t heard either of you mention them.” 

Chuck swallowed. What the hell, he thought. Just get it out there. “My mom left when I was nine, and my dad left us when I was fifteen. We’ve never heard from them.” Lifting his glass, he quickly took a drink, hoping he had kept the bitterness out of his tone. “My sister and I took care of each other.”

Mother set her napkin down while her daughter gaped. Even Danny looked completely bowled over.

“Screwed up, eh?” Casey said under his breath. He shook his head while scanning over the faces across the table. “Anything else you need to know?”

As Maggie’s expression changed, Chuck saw her trade a glance with her mother. “I’m very sorry, Chuck,” she said. Something made her look past her shoulder at Andy for a second or two. “Let’s talk about how you met. That has to be more … pleasant.”

“Well, I … like Casey said, we met at work ….”

“Details.” She crossed her arms on the table. “Spill. And you? Stay out of it.” The last line was directed at her glowering little brother. “I want Chuck’s version, not the abridged one line version.”

Chuck drew his brows together, trying to relax the hand that held a butter knife. He could feel sweat popping up under his shirt, so he took a deep breath. 

Okay, here goes.

“We met in a training class, actually.”

“Oh?” Maggie inclined her head at him slightly. “For the military?”

“Y-yes.” Chuck set down his knife and crumpled his napkin on his lap. “You’d be surprised how much classroom training officers have to take. It’s not all drop and roll, you know.”

“So, you were in class together?”

“Well, you could think of that way,” Chuck replied, taking a sip from his wine. He hesitated for a heartbeat, not wanting them to notice his hard swallow. “Truthfully, I was the instructor. John was one of my students in class.”

“Really.” Maggie’s eyes widened. “Impressive.”

Not as impressed as his cover boyfriend sitting next to him. A low growl of annoyance rumbled in Casey’s throat, a quiet threat for him to shut the hell up.

Granted, there was one significant advantage here. Chuck figured that Casey would not be able to dismember the Intersect in front of his mother. He averted his eyes and smiled a little humbly at them. “I actually work for Lockheed Martin on a US Government contract. Advanced technology for the DOD.”

“I’m sure they don’t want to hear the details,” Casey said stiffly, reaching for a dinner roll.

Without looking, Mother Casey’s hand shot out and slapped his away. “You already had three,” she told him. “Save the last one for Chuck. Go on, honey.” She nodded at the kid. “We want to hear the story.”

“Well.” Chuck cleared his throat. “I’ve been working on a project to take defense applications – intelligence, operational data, translations, anything really – into the field, crossing over to portable platforms. Handheld devices, like a smart phone or a tablet.”

“… Jesus H. Christ….” The low curse was audible only to Chuck, but on the off chance he didn’t get the message, Casey ended it with a knee to his shin, not gently. 

“Maybe that’s more than you want to hear.” Chuck scooched his leg over a few inches. “Anyway, I was asked to provide the hands on training and simulation exercises to a select group of officers. They were asked to pilot the software before release.” He looked down at his glass, turned his head and caught Casey’s ‘Can it. Now’ expression. Why was he mad? Hell, he had to come up with something. Chuck tilted a brow at his cover boyfriend. “John was one of them,” he added.

Casey reached over his plate for the green beans. “They sure as hell don’t wanna hear –” 

“Keep going.” Maggie waved him off with a flick of her wrist. “Then what?” 

“It was a four week program, two nights a week.” Chuck felt a little braver. His elbow was close enough to touch Casey’s forearm, and he might kill him later for this, so why not? He let his hand brush over Casey’s arm. “John sat in the front row. My most austere pupil,” the kid said, lips going tight in a weak imitation that made Maggie smile. “Shy, really. But very attentive, too.”

“Wait.” Even Danny was burning with curiosity by now. “You went on a date … with a student?”

Chuck was content to let them sit up and look at him for a minute. After a long pause, he shook his head and chuckled, taking another drink of his wine. “My sentiments exactly.” He dared to look sidelong at Casey, who appeared to be on the verge of grabbing him by the neck and hauling him upstairs. Chuck decided to speed it up. “No matter how many times John asked me to join him for coffee after class, I told him no thank you. He was very, uh, persistent, I might add.”

Casey stifled a groan. Burning through what had to be his last ounce of restraint, the agent lifted his scotch and took a long pull. 

Oh, Chuck was going to pay for this.

“Come on, Johnnie,” Mother Casey admonished. “This is a cute story. So, how …. Well, you know … how did you get together?”

“Like I said, he was persuasive. Brought me coffee. Even half of a sandwich one time.” 

“Half?” Maggie laughed.

“I know, right?” Chuck reached for a dinner roll and flashed his sunniest grin in Casey’s direction when he didn’t get his hand slapped away. “Okay … fast forward to the final day of class. John was in his usual position, front and center, running through the final simulation exam. It was a timed assessment, and I had –”

“Maggie’s a prof,” Casey interjected. “Bet you two didn’t know you had something in common, did ya?” Putting a bulky hand on Chuck’s kneecap, he squeezed in with his fingertips, hard. “You two could swap some war stories. You’ll have to spend some time together tomorrow.”

“Really, you are?” Chuck had to repress a wince and tried to free his knee. “Where do you teach?”

“Maggie teaches at UMSL. Oh, University of Missouri – St. Louis,” Mother explained when Chuck gave her a confused look. “My Maggie has a doctorate in psychology. She specializes in – what is it, honey?”

“Behavioral science and neurobiological processes.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “We can talk about that later, Ma. Right now, I want to hear the rest of this.” 

“Behavioral science? Really.” His brain was having a difficult time processing the fact that Casey’s sister was the ultimate barometer to the inner workings of the human grey matter – and while his heart pounded, she was staring at him, probably knowing this was all a lie. 

When he turned to Casey with a half-puzzled, half-panicked look, Casey lifted a shoulder and took Chuck’s dinner roll off his plate. 

Oh, shit. He was going to have a long talk with his freaking boyfriend after this. 

“Where was I?” The kid wet his throat; it made a dry scraping sound that he was sure every member of the Casey clan could hear. “Maybe this isn’t a good time to talk about –”

“You said it was a timed exam, and you had …?” Maggie tipped her head at him and raised her wine glass to her lips. “That’s exactly where you left off.”

“Oh.” Just great. PhD. and an iron clad memory to boot. “I … I had to get the results posted by ten a.m., so I knew it would be a long night reviewing the recorded data.” Taking a calming breath to regain his footing, Chuck twisted to look at Casey. He was munching on the roll, which had to be a strain considering how rigid his jaw was. “The students – the officers – had left, and I was in the classroom reviewing the results. Well, John scared the heck out of me when he appeared at the side of my desk.” 

“What did he say?” Maggie prodded, gazing at her brother.

“He … um, well, he told me he wasn’t my student anymore, and to quote: ‘We could damn well have a cup of coffee together – and he sure as hell wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time.’ Unquote.”

“How romantic, John.” Maggie said, dumb-struck. “Sheesh, you big dummy. Surprised you didn’t scare the poor kid away for good.”

Chuck frowned. Maybe he was the only one that noticed she had referred to him as a kid, but it did make him bristle just bit. Was that her way of implying his boyfriend – cover boyfriend – was a few years older? Still, Chuck was an instructor and successful software developer for the DOD. 

Hell. Why was he thinking this?!

“So, did you go?”

Blinking, Chuck flinched when the hand on his knee tightened. ‘Careful, Bartowski…’ it seemed to scream. “Hmm?”

“To coffee?”

“Oh, that.” Chuck dodged his hand out to salvage the rest of his dinner roll, but Casey snagged it first. Pointing a sour look at him, the kid gave up and stabbed at the last piece of chicken on his plate. “He didn’t give me a choice in the matter, after all.” 

“You big brute!” Maggie reached over to slug Casey’s arm jokingly. “What did you do? Force him into your trunk at gunpoint? Duct tape his arms behind his back and throw him over your shoulder? Jesus! There are other ways to get date a cute guy, Johnnie.”

Young and cute. God. He felt like a puppy that had followed Casey home, for crying out loud.

Next to him, Casey growled. Chuck couldn’t interpret that one. Was it because he was cute, or that Casey lacked dating finesse? Probably both.

“No, no, no.” Chuck put his hand on Casey’s forearm and gave him a self-satisfied look – one that he would be sure to pay for later – then waggled his brows teasingly. “It was nothing like that. He had brought coffee this time, so there was no getting out of it. How could I resist when he was standing there holding two iced mochas with whipped cream? Especially since some of the cream had dripped on his dress shoes. Soooo. We had coffee that night. That’s how it … started.” 

“How sweet.”

“You sly dog you,” Danny murmured and simply held out a fist to his brother-in-law, waiting. Chuck guessed that it took all of the willpower Casey could muster to reluctantly lift his clenched hand and return the fist bump. “Nice work,” he added, lifting his beer.

Maggie snorted. “God, little brother,” she said, helping herself to the last scoop of potatoes. “You are a big softie after all.” His sister hedged for a second. “Are you two living together now?”

“Yes,” Casey said firmly at the same time Chuck sputtered, “Uh, n-no.”

“That’s … interesting. How does that work exactly, Johnnie?”

The strong fingers resting on Chuck’s knees clutched down, instructing him to let Casey cover up the mess he had made. “Chuck still has an apartment, but he never stays there.”

Maggie turned to him, her forehead wrinkled.. “Why don’t you get rid of it then? Or sublet it out?”

“I … um,” Chuck started lamely, “I guess I never….” 

“All right, kids.” Mother Casey climbed out of her chair and started stacking plates. “That’s enough for now. Chuck looks like he’s getting ready to faint or hitchhike to the airport, and you.” She lifted her chin to her son. “Get that pissy look off your face. It’s Christmas, Johnnie.”

Casey made a noise in his chest, a growl so menacing only Chuck could pick up the translation. When they got upstairs, he was dead meat for this little story. 

“Johnnie and I will do the dishes, mom,” Maggie remarked. “You put those down and go relax. Besides ….” Pausing, she gestured at Casey. “I’d like to have a chance to catch up with my brother.” 

Chuck wasn’t sure if it was the way she said it, or the way a pair of cool blue eyes were pointed at both of them, but this was not good. 

“One more question, Chuck.” Setting down a stack of silverware on a plate, she angled her head towards her little brother. “How did he do?”

“How did he do …?” Ow. Chuck breathed in sharply when Casey’s fingers gripped his thigh. “Do you mean –”

“I mean, what grade did he get?” 

“I … well ….” Chuck raised his head, looking between her and Casey, and attempted to discreetly loosen his fingers. No dice. Casey slanted him an innocent look, and under the table, he dug in harder. “Ah,” Chuck jerked in his seat. “He did very … well in the exercises … but he’s not much of a test taker, I discovered.”

Casey pressed his mouth to the side of Chuck’s head and breathed, “… I have a test for you upstairs….”

“But he – oh – he passed,” Chuck said quickly, reaching to take a drink. “A little extra work on the side, and he managed to pull his score right up.”

Wait. What was that?

Oh, God.

Three pairs of eyes shifted in unison, each with varying degrees of raised brows. Cheeks blazing again, Chuck cringed and cleared his throat. Words failed to come.

Next to him, Casey gave them a smug smile and lifted his glass, chuckling into his three fingers pour of Macallans. 

“Uh-huh. I see.” Maggie shared a knowing look with her Mother and got up from the table.

“Say something!” Chuck mouthed behind their backs. “They’re going to think … well, we did it in the classroom!” 

Casey leaned in close, his warm lips brushing against Chuck’s ear. “Way to go, kid. DOD developer and a little whore.” The large hand on his knee clinched down and jiggled his leg. “Good thing mother seems to like you, eh?”

-x- End Meet the Kin Chapter Four-x-


	5. Chapter Five

Meet the Kin – a Twisted Tale of Christmas  
(Chapter Five) 

Mistletoe is everywhere but, darlin', I'll be true  
I can't kiss somebody's lips unless that someone's you 

-Marty Robbins

21 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
09:28 pm CST 

Chuck looked up from his PC Gamer magazine as Casey stalked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. “Did you have a nice chat with your sister?” 

“Eh.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, the agent leaned his back to the door, and the kid heard an exasperated growl from his handler. That summed it up, he guessed.

“Oh, by the way?” Chuck laid the magazine on his chest and threw up one of his hands. “’Behavioral science and neurobiological processes’? What the hell, Casey! You couldn’t have warned me about that ahead of time? The way she was looking at me? God knows what she’s thinking!”

Casey opened his eyes to see a lazy sprawl of long limbs on the bed. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you would react like this,” he said. “And, newsflash, sport. I know exactly what she’s thinking.”

“So?” Chuck asked, using his elbows to sit up. “Share with the class, Casey.”

“In hell.” Casey circled around the bed and tugged out his SIG Sauer, setting it in the drawer of the nightstand. Chuck tried not to flinch when he slammed it shut.

“Wait. You’re carrying a gun in the house?”

“Felt naked without it.” He narrowed his eyes at the kid. “You gonna spill about that, too?”

“I know you’re mad, big guy, but if you think about it, you should be pleased that I came up with something that quickly.”

“Test taking,” Casey muttered as he tossed his cell phone and watch on the dresser. “That’s what you could come up with. Heh.”

“Well, are you going to tell me what she said?” He lowered the reading material and pushed it off to the side. “Did I pass the test?”

“What are you talking about?” Casey was usually a better liar than that, because the uncomfortable look on his face told the kid he knew precisely what he was referring to. The Maggie Inquisition, Part Deux.

“It was obvious … wasn’t that the reason she wanted to do dishes with you?” Chuck searched his face for clues. “I mean, come on. She just about dragged you into the kitchen with her. So, I’m wondering if I meet the new boyfriend criterion.” 

“Oh, hell.” Casey scrubbed his hands over his face, and he stilled, apparently thinking. Chuck heard aggravation in his sigh. “She thinks you’re cute and nice.” Noticing his mystified expression, Casey then snorted. “But you’re young, and she’s concerned about your … commitment issues.” 

“Wait. First, I’m young. She said it like that? Meaning what, I wonder.”

“Yeah, well maybe that’s her way of saying you got daddy issues.” 

“Daddy issues?” Chuck’s mouth fell open. “What does that even mean?! Just because I don’t know where my dad is?”

Casey just looked at him and rolled his eyes, going back to emptying out his pockets. “I did not sign on for this shit so that I can explain it to you, kid.”

“Oh. Oh, I get it,” Chuck stammered, watching Casey try to ignore him. “Because I hooked up with a hot guy who happens to be older than me.” His mouth went completely dry and he sucked in a breath. Crap, did he just call Casey hot? 

The NSA agent froze in the middle of pulling out a pair of sleep pants from his duffle. Slowly, his eyes drifted over to the bed and the red-faced occupant. Well, that answered the ‘hot’ question, because Casey then smirked and raised a brow at him. “Really, Bartowski?” 

Chuck backpedaled. “Um, that probably came out wrong. What I meant to say was –”

“Yeah. I was right. You were checking out my ass today when we were in the garage.” The amused flicker in his gaze told Chuck the opportunity to fluster him was replacing his ire with Maggie. “Am I gonna have to handcuff you to the headboard, kid, to keep you on your own side tonight?”

“Very funny. I was … looking at the car and your ass got in the way.” Frowning, he reached over the comforter for the magazine and opened it up. “Besides,” Chuck murmured, “Even if I did check it out, I’d never get caught.” 

Oh. It took the kid point five seconds to replay in his head how that sounded. 

It took way less for Casey to lean over him and laugh, one that sounded a little dirty. “Gotta hand it to you, cupcake. Way to defend yourself.”

Damn if he shouldn’t just stop talking. Holding up the magazine to his face, Chuck went back to skimming an article. “Can we change the subject?” he said, not daring to look up.

“What?” With a lazy grin growing on his lips, Casey sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes. “Wanna talk about your commitment issues next?”

Chuck folded down the corner of the magazine to peer up at him. “Just because I still have my own apartment?”

“Shoulda got rid of it when you started spending so much time at my place,” Casey said, flinging a sock into the laundry basket.

“God. In some odd way, you are enjoying this,” Chuck observed. “Watching me twist in the wind while your sister gives me those looks of hers.”

“What looks?”

“Please.” He gave his cover boyfriend a ‘get real’ face and flipped one of the pages. “Back to my first point. Why didn’t you tell me that your sister is a psychology professor?” 

Casey made a noise of disdain.

“Really? That’s it?” The paradox of it all made Chuck lower the pages again, and tilting his head at Casey, he stared at him for a long moment. “Which by the way, if I put you two side by side? Well, let’s just say it solves the whole nature versus nurture debate. And, I might add, it does prove once and for all that God does have a sense of humor.”

“Whatever.” Casey turned his back on Chuck and pushed his jeans down past his hips. “Just remember this, Bartowski.” He angled his head around and poked his thumb to his chest. “Not your daddy.”

Miffed by the allegation that he was too young and even worse, had issues, Chuck pointed a sour look towards Casey’s back while his handler tossed his pants aside. Between the gun show unraveling in front of him and pretending to read the article, his brain was already getting too muddled. 

Scrunching his face for a second, he prided himself that he was not staring now that Casey was standing there without a shirt ….

… Okay, his bare back was right there. Why not get a good look? He never mentioned weight lifting or getting sweaty at the gym, but come on, Chuck thought. No one looked like that without working their ass off at it. Unless that whole nature versus …? Forget about that. Chuck wrinkled his brow, watching the swell and curve of thick ropes of muscle down his back as Casey lifted his arms and folded his shirt. 

Huh. 

And with that thought, another one hit him like an anvil. Being in a fake relationship with John Casey was getting profoundly confusing.

“Did you hear me?” 

“Not my …? Oh.” Chuck lifted the glossy … and felt something warm begin to grow in his stomach. “Fair enough,” he said, sniffing. “No daddy issues here.”

The page in front of his face gave him the perfect excuse to ignore Casey, who had turned around to give him a peculiar look. “Turn off the light on your side,” he ordered. “Sleep.”

Knowing that Casey would lean over him and ‘damn well turn it off’ if he didn’t comply, Chuck set the magazine next to the lamp and flicked off the light. 

A minute later, the kid twisted his head on the pillow and squinted in the dark. “Casey?”

“God, I knew it.” Casey bunched up his pillow in his fist, sounding tired. “I knew you couldn’t just go to sleep.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you … this will come to you as a surprise, and it wasn’t what I expected ….” 

“Spit it out, Bartowski.” 

Chuck was only able to see the back of Casey’s head. That made it a bit easier to admit. “What I was going to tell you … is that I think in some way, I actually like them.” 

He heard Casey let out a long breath. Rolling on his back, the agent glanced over his shoulder at the kid. “I’m going to regret asking this, but … what were you expecting?”

“If you wanted to kick my ass about our cover story, you would kill me if you knew.”

This got Casey’s attention. Ass-kicking and killing, all rolled up together in one happy description. “What?”

“Have you ever – well, the cantina scene in Episode IV? Mos Eisley?” 

“Bartowski.” From out of nowhere, a pillow hit Chuck in the head and bounced off his chest and onto the floor. 

“Hey! Ow.” Chuck rubbed his shoulder in mock annoyance and had to smile. “What was that?” 

“You know the rules. You talk Geek, you get a pillow to the head.”

“Funny, I don’t remember that rule.” With a long reach, Chuck scooped the pillow off the floor and landed on his side, facing his handler. “Okay, okay then. No more pillows,” he said. “Here’s one you’ll get: I expected to hear, uh, eerie banjo music…?”

Even in the murk, he could see one brow slowly climb up Casey’s forehead. “… the hell?” 

“People from the hills? A canoe trip?”

Casey merely looked at him for a god awful long minute, and Chuck wondered if the Intersect ass-kicking was back on the table after the cover story and the crack about his family. 

Instead, Casey made a noise in the back of his throat. He wasn’t sure at first, but Chuck’s eyes widened when he realized it was an honest to God laugh, deep and somehow warmer than the down blanket layered over them. Not knowing what to say to that, he relaxed into the bed, felt the brush of bare skin against his knees when Casey’s long muscular body settled under the covers.

“Bartowski,” he said, fluffing his pillow and closing his eyes. “Go to sleep.”

22 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
07:42 am CST 

Was it a coincidence that Mother Casey happened to have left a long to-do list on the countertop next to the coffee pot? Right where Casey would spy it when he poured himself a steaming cup at promptly six thirty a.m. By now, he had had over an hour to stew over her inventory, Chuck figured – and the kid had a bad feeling about the impending division of labor.

“Ma, what’s this?” Casey held up the list as Mother rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Looks like you have a few chores for us?”

“Well, honey, I thought since you were here … do you mind…?”

His eyes drifted down the paper thoughtfully, and when he glimpsed the messy-headed kid sitting half asleep at the table, still griping that the time was inhumane, a smile curled on his lip. Casey flicked the paper. “No worries,” he said, stepping forward and tucking his thumb in his waistband. “We’ll be right on it, Ma.”

Chuck glowered into his coffee and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I’m going back to bed,” he mouthed when Mother Casey turned to flip the French toast. “This is not in the Intersect’s job description.” 

Casey just shook his head and smiled.

22 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Mother’s kitchen  
01:09 pm CST 

“Swept the garage?”

“You have to ask? Weren’t you standing right there watching me?”

“Gutters cleaned out?”

“Who knew that a foot of snow would be so handy for holding the ladder upright?” Chuck grumbled around a mouthful of a roast beef and cheddar sandwich. 

There was one silver lining at least. When he had asked Casey if it was okay to dig through his mother’s refrigerator, his handler had ordered him to sit down. So with his butt planted in the chair, Casey had to then begrudgingly make Chuck a sandwich. 

“Not bad, Casey.” Leaning back in the chair and stretching his legs out in front of him, he took another bite. “Trained assassin and expert sandwich maker, all tied up in one cuddly package.” 

“Feet down. Jesus. Mother’s table.” A whack on Chuck’s ankles brought his legs down in a hurry. “Tacked down the loose shingles over the front porch?” 

“They weren’t on the table. Sheesh. They were just crossed and up – well, it was only the illusion of touching the table – and why do you have to be so –” 

“Tack down the loose shingles?”

“Well, wasn’t it convenient for me to do that, since I was already dangling off the top of the ladder anyway?”

“True, Bartowski.” Casey cast him a satisfied look. “That was exactly my reasoning, too.”

It would’ve been immature to mimic him – and since Casey was in arm’s range, there was a significant probability that the kid would get cuffed in the head for his efforts. So, he did the mature thing, and under the table, he flipped him off.

“Okay, shingles. Roger that.” Casey tossed the paper onto the countertop. “I fixed the leaky faucet upstairs in the spare bath, so Mother’s list is complete.” Congratulating himself that the worst was over, Chuck sagged back in the chair to loosen up his weary muscles.

Which meant he was unprepared for the moment the agent sauntered up to his seat and placed his hands on each of the armrests, boxing him in. He watched as Casey lowered his head until their eyes were level; his voice went low. “And kid?”  
“Y-yeah?” Chuck stammered, wondering what he had done to Provoke The Casey.

“Do that again,” he growled, “and boyfriend or not, I break all of your fingers.”

22 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Downstairs  
04:23 pm CST 

“Johnnie, where’s your sister?” Mother Casey called from the kitchen. “I thought they would be back by now.”

“You know how it goes, Ma.” Casey set a cardboard box on the dining table next to a stack of others, muscles flexing when it landed with a thud. “They wanted to go into town and ‘just look at some things’. That’s code for ‘Christmas shopping’. Eh,” he added under his breath. “She said they’d be back by five at the latest.”

From his perch on the sofa, Chuck could see the words ‘xmas décor’ written on the boxes. Now it all made sense – why Casey was ruffled up. He didn’t seem like the garland and candy cane type. More of the C4 and grenade launcher type.

Sensing he was to stay out of it, Chuck went back to surfing the channels. 

“Five?” Mother asked, and the kid heard the oven door swing shut right before Mother Casey poked her head around the corner. “That doesn’t leave very much time to get ready if we need to be there by six thirty.”

Chuck’s thumb stilled over the remote control. A quick glance told him they knew something he didn’t. “Uh, get ready?” he asked. “Are we going somewhere?”

“John Stephen,” Mother puffed. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Casey said, obviously ticked off that Mother used his full name. 

“John Stephen?” Chuck smiled. “He never told me that.”

Casey slanted a look to Chuck, one that promised he would be shoveling the drive if he repeated it.

“Really? He didn’t?” Mother Casey made a frustrated noise and put her hands on her hips. “Well, what he also failed to tell you was that we’re all going to the children’s Christmas choir program at the church. It’s been a few years since Johnnie was in the back row leading the baritones. This year, I thought it would be nice if we all went,” she told him. 

“I … can’t wait.” Chuck said, beaming a forced smile.

“There’s a potluck afterwards so the Mostaccioli is in the oven.” She spied the row of boxes lined up on the table and patted Casey’s arm. “Thanks for bringing those up from the basement, honey. Tomorrow, we’ll go get the tree.” 

“Did you ever replace the crooked tree stand, Ma, or should I pick up some fish line at the hardware store?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It was only the one year we had to do that.” She started back to the kitchen, but something made her stop and turn. “What is it, Chuck? Is everything okay?”

“What?” Chuck straightened in his seat. He had hoped the question was not written across his face, but at last check, he was still Chuck Bartowski. “Oh …. Everything’s fine, really,” he said. “I was just … nothing.”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she took a few steps forward. “You’re wondering … about the church … if you and Johnnie should go?” 

“Well, I ….” Oh, crap. Casey was going to kill him for even bringing this up. “Um,” he managed. “I was only –”

Mother Casey waved him off before he could stutter out the rest. “I’ll tell you this,” she said carefully. “If you’re wondering, you’re not the only gay couple there.”

Chuck’s brows shot up. How the hell did she do that? Not that he had intended to jump into the pit of vipers that the question could raise, but, dammit, this was new to him. He had less than two days experience at being a cover boyfriend. “I was just … you know, sometimes….”

“You’ll be fine, honey. They’ll like you, well, for you.” She folded her arms over her chest and threw her head back. “And even if they had a problem, we’d say to hell with ‘em. We are the Caseys, after all.”

22 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. John’s boyhood bedroom  
06:08 pm CST 

Chuck sat on the bed and hurriedly pulled on his socks. When he stood in front of the mirror, he raked his fingers through his hair, grimaced at his reflection and shut off the light on the way out. He had discovered that when Mother Casey announced they would be departing at six fifteen, this was not merely a suggestion. With militaristic precision, she rattled off orders starting at five thirty – who needed to be in the shower at what time in order to be making their way out to the car at exactly six fifteen. 

Despite the stringent schedule, she ‘let’ Chuck go last because he ‘looked so sweet and comfortable sprawled out on the couch’. God, he was going to miss her.

Casey had looked up from the DVR he was programming for Mother and rolled his eyes at that, saying nothing.

But now, Chuck might’ve disrupted her schedule because he was the last one getting ready. Sure enough, voices carried up from the living room as Chuck rounded the corner of the hall and took the stairs. A groan escaped his lips while he wondered how long they had been waiting, and what digs Casey would get in for his tardiness. 

When he reached the last stair, Chuck turned towards the living room. “Hey, sorry for making you ….” 

Oh. He froze on the step, words stuck in his throat. Then, he blinked. The vision clustered in front of the fireplace had not melted into the woodwork even after he rubbed his eyes. 

Holy mother of all … Suppressed laughter made his chest shake and he had to bite down on the inside of his mouth. So hard. 

Either the Lawrence Welk Christmas special singers had flash mobbed in the living room, or someone had pillaged the UPS truck delivering catalogue orders from a mega-large outdoor-esque mail order company. 

And perhaps he had missed the memo – but, apparently, there had been a special sale on matching holiday sweaters for every family member.

Chuck brought his hand to his mouth and pretended to stifle a cough, letting his eyes take in the sight. A sea of bright red knit sweaters, each with a single enormous snowflake that stretched over the chest. 

He stared. “Aw,” he managed without busting open.

The Casey clan stared right back, a wide range of emotions reflecting in their faces. Maggie and her family looked resigned to the fact that there was no fighting it. Mother Casey had a smile brilliant enough to light the room.

Major John Casey didn’t look quite as pleased. Obviously, he had been dogged into compliance by this mother, and now his flinty mien was pointed directly at the kid, a look of warning so dire that Chuck felt a shudder traverse his spine. 

Oh. Wait – hold on here. A horrible thought pinged him between the eyes. Chuck reflexively smoothed his deep blue sweater as his eyes scanned the room for the sign of another box. Not noticing one, he felt the tension slide out of him and he let go of the hem of his shirt. 

“See? I told you he would be upset.” Mother Casey turned to her son. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me you were bringing your friend? I could’ve ordered another one.”

“What?” Chuck started to splutter, arms waving in a placating gesture. “No, no, no, this is … fine really.” Getting his first close up look, he smiled broadly at them. “I’m … fine. I won’t be offended at all.”

“Ma, he can wear mine,” Casey jumped in helpfully, starting to lift it over his head.

Her hand struck like a snake, swatting him down. 

“Ow.” Casey massaged his fingers. “Ma, I was only –”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Johnnie. I had to special order that one for you. Do you know how hard it is to find a Christmas sweater that size?”

“That’s very true, John,” Chuck pointed out. “The sweater was made just for you.”

“I have to admit, I felt guilty when I found out you would be joining us for the holiday, Chuck, and I didn’t have a sweater for you.” Her eyes swept over his lanky form, stopping to inspect his understated blue sweater. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were sticking out like a sore thumb when we go out together.”

“St-stick out?” Chuck cleared his throat, his brain rapidly processing the tide of red before his eyes. “I… I would be sticking out? Oh – I would be good with that, really. I don’t … mind.”

Mother Casey tapped his cheek. “Thank you for being a good sport, Chuck.” 

He gave her a dazzling smile. “No problem. Really.” 

Behind her back, Danny and Andrew exchanged looks. Casey hooked his finger in his collar and pulled it out to get some air. 

“Let’s move, Ma,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need to get outside. Damn thing’s suffocating me.”

“Just a minute.” Chuck held up a hand to stop them and fished his phone out of his pocket. “I bet you would like a picture, Mother Casey?” 

“Thank you, sweetie.” She turned to the others and clapped her hands twice. “Line up by the fireplace.” 

Casey sidled up to his boyfriend. “Bartowski,” he breathed low against Chuck’s ear. “You tell anyone about this –”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. The Intersect project will just become a mysterious blip on the DNIs radar. No evidence it even existed.” Shrugging, he returned the favor and leaned in close to Casey’s ear. “Seriously, I do know how to keep secrets, remember? Besides, Casey, would anyone believe this?” 

“Point, Bartowski,” Casey said after scanning the room.

Chuck edged back, not able to keep the grin off his face. “Get a little closer together so I can get everyone. Nice,” he commented quietly, lining up the pinhole camera. “Got it.”

The ocean of red began filing towards the back door with Danny carrying the tray of pasta while Maggie held the door open. “Let’s get this over with,” Chuck heard the brother-in-law mumble under his breath, out of Mother’s earshot. 

Andrew looked up at his dad with pained eyes behind his glasses. “Daaaad, do we have to wear –?

“Andrew.” Maggie gave him a sharp look and nudged him on the shoulder. “Keep up with grandma. She’ll leave without us.”

Coats, hats, mittens and boots were sorted out and distributed while Mother Casey ensured Chuck took the warm field coat he had borrowed before. Casey waited at the back door, intent on locking up once everyone was out. 

“Oh. I almost forgot.” Mother Casey stopped in her tracks a few feet from her tan Ford Taurus and turned around. “I have to return a book to Marion and I know she’ll be there.” 

“I’ll get it mom. Just tell me where it is.” Maggie nodded when her mother gave her the instructions and she disappeared around the corner. In an attempt to drag his heels, Casey leaned against the doorway for his sister. 

“Um, should I wait for you?” Chuck asked hesitantly, glancing out to the driveway. “Is that what a boyfriend would do in this situation, or should I just go out there with the others …?”

Casey just gave him a look. “Glad you’re taking the job of my boyfriend so seriously, Bartowski,” he remarked, sounding cocky.

“I was just –”

“Not much of a romantic, are you big brother?” a feminine voice inquired playfully. “Or maybe … not opportunistic?”

Casey and Chuck spun in unison – Chuck with a sharp intake of breath and eyes flaring wide. Damn it. Maggie had snuck up on them again. She was standing by the stove holding a thick hardcover in her hand, but it was difficult to see past the presumptuous smile plastered on her face. 

Casey had years of practice, so he recovered first. “What’re talking about, sis?” he asked, reaching for the door.

“I thought you would’ve noticed.” Purposely, her line of sight tracked up over their heads, and she winked at her brother. “That you would’ve taken advantage of it, that’s all.” 

Chuck looked up and his stomach tightened with a bolt of heat. His eyes went wider still. “Is … is that -–”

“Mistletoe,” he heard Casey rumble, finishing the sentence.

Chuck didn’t move. Yep … there was no doubt. The green leafed sprigs dotted with tiny white berries were tied together with a red grosgrain ribbon – and dangling directly over Chuck’s head.

Casey pushed off the doorway with his shoulder and took a step forward. “Where did that come from?” he inquired, eyeing his sister.

“I found it in one of the boxes you had on the table earlier today,” Maggie replied with a wave of her hand. “I thought you could use some help,” and she shifted her gaze to Chuck with a mischievous look, “Because your boyfriend seems a little … shy.”

“Who, me? Oh, no, I’m n-not ….” Instinctively, Chuck felt his foot sliding back. Okay, yes, he had kissed Casey before, but that was life or death at the convention center. It wasn’t under his mother’s roof with big sister hovering over them.

Glancing to the side, Chuck watched as Casey pointed a hard look at her. He bit down on his lip for a second or two before rocking back on his heels and tucking his thumb in his pocket. Fingers curled loosely at his hips. A soldier at ease, one who had accepted his duty. Sauntering a few steps forward, Chuck saw that the look of surprise from a moment ago had dissolved, replaced by an inscrutable expression that he recognized. 

Oh.

There was no doubt about it. Chuck Bartowski was going to get kissed.

Without thinking, the kid did what came naturally when Casey moved in to grab him. His arms shot up defensively and he stumbled backwards.

– Only to be caught by the front of his sweater, tugged firmly and steadied on his feet. Fingers were on his skin, sliding up his wrist; a thick arm looped effortlessly around him, yanked him in close. Chuck’s brain scattered wild thoughts, now that Casey was pressing his hips and lower belly to his, hard muscles right up against him. A hand slid across the sensitive flesh of his middle, and a couple of knuckles eased past the waistband of his pants to hold him in place. And then, there were goose bumps when he felt warm breath on his neck.

“C-Casey… I don’t think your sister wants to see –” Chuck arched his back away, squirming in his arms, but for a reason he wouldn’t think about, he was struggling to get air. Butterflies rumbaed in his stomach. “This isn’t such a –”

“Relax, kid.” The arm wrapped around him squeezed in tighter, keeping him right where he was. “Hold still, will ya?” Casey said, gravelly, then breathed against brown curls, “You’ll want this.”

Maggie put her hand up to her mouth and a giggle escaped her lips. “Be nice, big brother. You don’t want to scare him off, do you? Mother actually likes this one.” She glanced at Chuck meaningfully and added, “Thinks he’s a keeper.”

A keeper? Later tonight, when Chuck was lying wide awake in bed with his cover boyfriend, he would have time to ponder, in all that was freaking holy, how his standing had been elevated to that particular lofty status.

He couldn’t be bothered with that at the moment. Instead, Chuck had to focus on breathing and keeping his heart from hammering a hole in his chest, because the hell-bent gleam in Casey’s eyes told the kid he damn well was going to finish this mission.

Chuck opened his mouth to protest or at least to remind his boyfriend of his aversion to PDA, but the hand in his waistband skimmed to the small of his back, and his thumb brushed his bare skin there. Chuck hitched a breath.

“John, we shouldn’t –”

Too late. Casey cut him off by using his muscle advantage to crowd him to Mother’s kitchen counter, wedging him until his thigh settled against his. At first, the kid choked at the feel of Casey’s leg pressed right there, and tried to gently but firmly push him back. Hands splayed over Casey’s chest, but it took no time to recognize a brick wall would be easier to move. Of course, Casey didn’t budge an inch. 

There were a few moments where breathing was impossible, until a strong hand cupped his jaw, warm fingertips cinching in just enough to hold him in check. To steer his face up an inch or two. The agent’s gaze drifted down to Chuck’s lips and back up to meet his startled dark eyes.

“Are you –” Chuck swallowed nervously and started to move his hands, not certain where they would end up. “What are you doing?” he eked out between his teeth. 

Casey snorted. “Coy,” he explained over his shoulder to Maggie. “Might want to cover your eyes, sis.”

A small movement and soft laugh from the side told Chuck she was playing along, pretending not to watch them. “Okay, just kiss him already. Mom’s going to start honking the horn in a minute.”

“You can’t be serio- mmmph!” 

Casey’s mouth pressed to his, giving him the last thing he expected. Not a simple lip smack and release. This was all Casey. Warm, hard … surprisingly deep. A thumb stroked over his jawbone, and not waiting for a protest, Casey took his lips, slow and thorough. Tasting him with a deliberate and restrained tension, teasing his mouth with a lazy swipe of his tongue – and oh God. 

Cover kissing Sarah Walker was fragile and gentle and fake. This was serious business. 

Somehow, during the kiss, Chuck’s hands had figured out on their own that it probably wasn’t good for the cover to be pushing him back or flailing aimlessly to the side. Oddly, one was curled over Casey’s broad shoulder. The other was balled up in his red sweater, twisting the front of it in his fist.

Impossible – because this was not happening – but something hot and prickly slid into his lower belly and lodged itself in a not so unpleasant place. Chuck felt it quiver and clench tight. His eyes fluttering shut, he tried not to think how easy it had been to get swept up in the undercurrent, not fighting it, while he felt his body being towed out in an unassailable riptide. This cannot be happening, he repeated again, just to make sure every part of him had heard it loud and clear.

As fast as it had launched its attack, the kiss ended. Casey broke contact and stepped away, letting his hands drop to his side. Then, he squared his shoulders – that made the snowflake pucker out a little in the middle, Chuck noticed vaguely – and he slanted his gaze to Maggie. “Kid gets over his shyness kind of quickly, eh?”

She made a show of rolling her eyes at him, and laughed. “You owe him an apology for that,” Maggie said, buttoning up her coat. “And me. God, get a room, little brother.”

Chuck’s mouth fell open at the same time Casey folded his arms over his chest with a smirk. But all three jumped when the sound of the car horn sliced through the night air. 

“Dammit. That’s our cue.” Maggie tucked the book under her arm and crossed over the back porch. “I bet Danny grabbed shotgun, too.”

“Out. Locking up.” Casey thumbed towards the driveway. “Move it.” 

… As if he hadn’t just kissed him senseless. 

Chuck pushed himself away from the counter, not knowing whether he felt pissed or idiotic or – was that really his knees sagging into the cupboard a minute ago? 

When Maggie was down the porch stairs, snow crunching under her boots, the kid spun on Casey. “What,” he hissed, “the hell … was that?! Did we just –”

“Kiss?” Casey leaned in close to Chuck’s neck, the breath of his words brushing warmly over his skin. “Thought you’d like to learn a thing or two about a proper cover kiss, Bartowski. Not those wispy little pecks that Blondie used to use to keep you in line. Now, get it in gear.” Chuck gaped at him until a large hand came out and slapped him in the ass. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Mother hates to wait, you know.”

22 December 2008  
First Lutheran Church, Coalton IL.  
09:04 pm CST 

“Look! It’s snowing!” Chuck happily piled out the glass double doors of the church vestibule, black Chucks sliding in the new white stuff. Blinking up at the sky, it seemed that he was goggling at the swirling flakes illuminated under the floodlight of the parking lot. “Wow ….” His forehead furrowed. “It looks just like a snow globe with the little tiny flakes … that you shake,” Chuck said slowly. 

With eyes narrowed at him, Casey watched the kid lift his hand and almost lose his balance. For some cockamamie reason, he was trying to catch a fistful of flakes in his glove. 

Didn’t he get enough of this white shit today to last a lifetime? Casey scoffed to himself. What the hell was going on? 

“Chuck. Wait up.”

Of course, he didn’t wait. Casey walked faster, staring at the back of Chuck’s coat while the kid loped ahead, fascinated with the whirlwind of snow. Yeah, Bartowski was a nerd and little odd at times, but this was crazy, even for him. 

And like a lever that had been flipped, Casey’s agent senses came online with a spark. Something was way off with the Intersect. “Wait up,” he ordered again, breaking into a trot behind him.

The kid still wasn’t listening. Instead, he became distracted by his fingers stretched up in the air. Turning around, he blinked heavily at Casey and gave him a loose, lopsided smile. “’S’ nice, hmm?”

“Nice?” Casey’s forehead bunched up in a deep frown. He sped up the pace when it became apparent Chuck wasn’t going to see the curb in front of him. “You bitched about it all day.”

“Pfft.” Chuck waved a hand behind him and sloshed ahead. A blink later, his foot hit a slippery patch, nearly pitching him on his ass. Arms thrashed wildly, and as luck would have it, he managed to find balance against Mrs. Bauer, who had the misfortune of being a few steps behind him.

“S-sorry. So sorry.” Chuck let go of her coat and tried to smooth it until she batted his hand away. “I didn’t mean to grab you.”

“Bartowski.” Casey drew to a halt next to him and nodded an apology at the highly affronted matron, who quickly gave Chuck a wide berth. “Jesus, kid ….” Snatching the sleeve of his coat, Casey whirled him around to get a good look at his face. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hmm?” Chuck’s eyes flickered, looking watery and hazy as he attempted to focus on Casey’s face. “Wha –? Are you mad at me, Casey?” 

“I’m not mad. Just hold still, will ya.” Casey used the grip on his arm to shake him – not hard, but enough to get him to pull his damn head out and stop playing games. 

Well, that got a response. Chuck’s head flopped to the side and he almost fell down again. “Hey…!” An arm swooped out and snatched Casey’s shoulder. “Whassa matter? Don’t do that.”

“… the hell?” Tightening his grip to steady him, Casey’s gaze traveled over the kid. “Whoa, easy, sport,” he murmured, keeping the roughness out of his tone. “Bartowski, what’s going on with you?”

“See, you are maaad,” Chuck observed, slurring every last syllable. “You get that little crinkle between your –”

“ ‘Cause if I didn’t know better, kid, I’d say you were three sheets to the goddamn wind.”

“Uh, three sheets … what now?” 

“Look at me.”

A pair of large brown eyes fluttered and turned to him. Chuck gave his handler a crooked grin. “Hmm?” 

Oh, fucking great. 

How it happened was a mystery for the ages, but the kid was shitfaced drunk.

“Oh … no,” Casey heard his mother whisper under her breath. He was too busy staring to notice she had sidled up next to them. “Tell me he didn’t.”

“Didn’t?” Casey turned to look at her without letting go of Chuck’s arm. “Didn’t what?”

“Yeah, dinn’t wha –?” Chuck slurred one more time.

“Oh … this will be fun,” Maggie suggested dryly, joining forces next to her mother. Turning to her husband, she winked at him. “Danny, take Andrew to the car, will you? We’ll be right there.”

Casey gave them both a sour look. “Someone explain what the fu –”

“Johnnie, we are in the church parking lot.”

“– heck is going on here?” 

“Chuck, honey, look at me.” Mother Casey shouldered her son to the side and laid her gloved hands on Chuck’s cheeks. At the feel of her touch, he looked down at her with bleary eyes and smiled. 

“Yes, Mother Casey?”

“The punch bowl. Did you go to the one by the front door when we went into the banquet hall, or the one in the back corner?”

“I … guess it was ….” Chuck tilted his head at her, obviously considering what he could recall. He was blinking a lot, but it was doing nothing to help his concentration. “Well, there was a long line at the front one, so I went to the other one.”

“Oh, God.” She brought her hand up to her mouth. “Johnnie, your Chuck might need some help getting out to the car.”

“Huh? M’ fiiiine.”

“Fuck, I don’t believe this,” Casey said. “Are you telling me –?”

“Shhh.” Mother Casey gave him a severe look for the swear, but let it slide this time. “Mrs. Weiscoff’s punchbowl.” Reaching up, she brushed Chuck’s cheek. “Honey, can you tell me how many glasses of punch you had?”

“Well.” Chuck swayed while he thought about it. “I don’t know really. I liked it, so I went back for seconds … fifths maybe. The nice lady … she was filling my cup … and I couldn’t … not. That would just be rude, don’t you think?”

“I’d say it was good.” Maggie’s eyes were snapping with humor as they roamed over Chuck and landed on her brother. “Doesn’t she call it her apple cider sparkle? Horse powered by a concoction of rum, apple brandy, Calvados and schnapps. Hell,” she snorted. “I think she even throws in a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon as the garnish.”

“Ah, hell.” Casey dragged his hand over his face, examining the drunken nerd from head to toe. 

“John?” Chuck gave him his best wheedling grin as he swayed gently among the snowflakes. “’S everything okay?”

Maggie stood on her tiptoes and leaned in close to her brother’s ear. “Well, at least your boyfriend is a happy drunk. It could be worse,” she chuckled. “He could have a hot temper.”

Casey grunted. “Back off, sis, before your ass ends up in a snow bank.”

“Everything is fine, sweetie.” Mother Casey finished buttoning up Chuck’s coat for him and pulled his collar up. “Why don’t you give me your hand?”

“Okay ….” Obediently, Chuck lifted his hand and put it in hers. “What’re you …?” 

“Here.” She took his hand and rested it on Casey’s arm. “It’s slick in the parking lot so hang on. I’d like to get to the car without a trip to the emergency room.” Turning to her son, she poked his chest. “He’s your responsibility tonight, Johnnie. Let’s get home safe and get him to bed.”

Casey heaved a breath, long fingers encircling Chuck’s wrist. “Yes, Mother.”

“Oh, and Johnnie? Your boyfriend is going to have to sit by the window on the way home.”

“Wait.” Casey pulled up short, making Chuck slide in the slush before the Chucks got traction. “I have to take the middle of the back seat? Nuh-uh. No way.”

“Your sister gets the other window. Danny is already up in front with me.” 

“Bastard,” Maggie joked, spotting her husband in the passenger seat as they approached the car. The little guy was stuffed in back, looking bored. “Looks like you get to share the middle with Andrew, little brother.”

Casey made a deep noise in his throat. God, the middle always sucked.

Mother Casey gave both her children a pointed look as she rounded the car to the driver’s side. “Some things never change, do they, Chuck?” 

“He still likes the window seat when we go out on a stake-ou-mmm” 

A quick dive into the deep end, just to shut him up, of course. Steady and wet. The kiss was a typical op in some ways; get in, take, sweep, and get the hell out. 

It was atypical, however, in that drunken Chuck had fit their lips together, pressed in with his soft mouth; given him a small movement with a broken little noise at the end.

What was that, kid?

“Johnnie, be nice to him. Let him sit by the window.”

“Shut it, Bartowski,” Casey breathed against the side of Chuck’s head, letting his lips graze his cheek. “Let me get in the fucking middle.”

“I heard that.”

Huffing, Casey climbed in, glowering at the back of his mother’s head.

22 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
10:16 pm CST 

Nerds were wired differently than normal folks like him, Casey noted. Normal meant that one could hold a few pints of liquor, no problem, and still manage to claw their way home, even on their fucking hands and knees if they had to, and get to bed without nanny service. Hell, he had made it through a weekend of special forces survival training with more of a bender than this, and still nailed a respectable kill shot ratio. 

Geeks, though … that was another story altogether. They needed coddling and handholding to get their nerdy asses under the sheets. Wanted to natter and babble about stupid shit like the snow out the window. Oh, yeah, because Chuck had to get the fucking window seat while he had to lift his legs into his chest for the ride home.

“Casey?” Chuck looked up from his sloppy sprawl on top of the bed, that blue sweater rucked up to his ribcage, and pointed a lost puppy face at him. “Are we going to bed together again?”

Oh, yeah. And then, there was that to contend with.

The agent stared down at that half slack, half lopsided smiling face. The face Mags called cute. 

“Oh, Christ,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is not happening to me.”

“What … what does that mean?”

“Quiet.” Closing the door behind him, Casey crossed around to the bed. “Sit up.”

“Hmm?”

“Ma says you have to take these.” Casey held out his palm under Chuck’s nose. “Open your mouth.”

“What … is it?”

“Aspirin and water, kid. What did you think it was?”

Chuck levered himself up on his elbows and scooped up the pills. He only dropped one. “Are you still mad at me, Casey?” he asked, swiping at the glass.

“I’ll hold it, dammit. You think I want water spilled all over the bed?” Casey held the glass in front of his face. “Put those in your mouth and I’ll give you this.”

God, did Mother here that through the wall? 

Ah, fuck it.

“Swallow or chew?” Chuck wondered.

Casey scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “They’re aspirin. Swallow. And for the love of God and everything that is holy, keep your voice down.” 

Well, that was a show of blind trust at least. Fixing his attention on Casey’s hand, he took the aspirin and let the agent tip the cup to his mouth. When he had half the glass down, Chuck pushed it away and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. 

“Ya know something, Casey?” Chuck flopped back down on the bed and peered at him with fuzzy eyes. “You’re not mad at me. You’re being nice to me.” 

“Oh, God.” Casey could tell those nerd gears were spinning between his ears. “Lift up your arms,” he instructed.

“I think the way you treat me … has been a big scary act.” Chuck tilted his head on the pillow, brown eyes still in watery contemplation. “I think you like me,” he said.

Casey reached out and captured his jaw, using firm pressure to hold his face. “We are not, and I repeat, not having this conversation tonight. Now lift up your arms.”

“Nuh-uh. Not until you tell me – hey! That’s my – what’re doing?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Casey warned, putting one knee on the bed. “And hold still.” Taking no guff, he put a hand on Chuck’s waist and pressed him down into the mattress. Now that he had him pinned, Casey grabbed the hem of the sweater and started to yank it over his head. “God knows what Mother thinks is going on in here,” he growled.

“Again, what are you … doing?!” With his head wrapped in the sweater, Chuck tried to slap at him, but that was useless since his arms were tangled in the sleeves. “Wait. You’re taking my clothes?!” 

“For the last time – shh! Stop squirming.”

“I’m just … gah! Your hands are cold!” Chuck drew in a sharp breath and tried to swing again, sweater arms flapping. “I … can’t … it’s all folded funny around my ….”

A smothered laugh in his ribcage took Casey by surprise. No one would believe this. 

“Here. Jesus.” Casey gave it one more yank and the sweater came over his head. “Again, Bartowski, do you have to be such a damn girl about this.”

“You coulda warned me,” Chuck said, crossing his arms over his bare chest self-consciously. “Can I get a sleep shirt?”

Casey moved off the bed and dug through Chuck’s bag until he found a t-shirt. “Take it.” He tossed it on his chest and the kid managed to shrug it on without too much trouble. 

“Now … are we goin’ to bed?” Chuck asked, his brow creasing. 

“You know, Bartowski.” Casey put his knees on the mattress and leaned over him, one hand on each side of Chuck’s head. “I keep thinking that after twenty years in the service, I’ve seen everything. Done every impossible thing there was to do. But, then,” he said, half amused, half weary. “I met you.”

Chuck’s eyes drifted lazily over his face and slowly that damn crooked smile beamed at him. “I know we fight sometimes … but I think you’re okay, too.” 

“Oh, Christ.” Casey shifted his eyes to the side to avoid the grin pointed at him. “I’m going to need to hit the liquor cabinet tonight after this,” he whispered to himself. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Hmm?”

“Pants. Let’s go.” Casey reached down and tapped his thigh. “Lift your ass so I can get these off.”

“My … you want my –?” Chuck’s nose crinkled as he thought about it. “I don’t think … I mean … we only kissed twice, right?” A ruddy blush crept over his cheeks, brought on by a wicked combination of 100-proof hot cider melded with God knows what the kid was thinking right now. “I’m … not that kinda guy to sleep with someone on the first –”

“Oh, do not even think about finishing that –”

“Or… is this our second night together?”

“Bartowski, if you don’t be quiet, I will stuff a sock in your mouth –”

“And the kiss at the convention center? When you were poisoned?” Chuck rested one of his arms over the pillow and tucked it under his head, staring blindly at the ceiling. “That one doesn’t even count … really … because it wasn’t a good one,” he mumbled, and then added quietly, “Not like the second one.”

What did he just say? Casey went utterly still, watching the kid’s face to see if he would laugh at the words that had just come out of him. But there he was, serious as death, looking up at the light fixture as if he was trying to connect imaginary dots and blurs and hazy thoughts together somehow. 

“Oh, hell,” Casey said after a heavy silence. Shaking his head that he was actually going to do this, he reached for the top button of Chuck’s jeans. “I’m not trying to sleep with you. Just give me your damn pants.”

“You’re not? Ow!” The kid brought up his knees in a pathetic attempt to fend him off. “Wh-what is it with your family and pants, anyway? What are you doing?” 

“This.” In a move that was too easy, Casey scooped up both of his wrists and pressed them to the pillow over his head. “Now stop struggling and let me get the jeans over your hips.”

“Honey?” Mother’s voice was muffled behind the door. She sounded concerned. “Everything … okay in there?”

Casey cleared his throat and gave Chuck a look that promised the sock would go into his mouth if he chimed in to this conversation. “Fine, Ma. It’s not what you think,” he said hurriedly. “I’m just trying to –”

“That’s fine, Johnnie. What do you kids say, uh, TMI, okay? I’m going to bed. Just try to be … quiet.”

Casey closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath. Breakfast around the table tomorrow was going to be just fucking peachy. Maggie giving him that smart ass grin of hers. Mother Casey with a worried look that the kid would flee from his life after this vacation was over. God, could this get more screwed up? 

When he looked down, troubled brown eyes, pupils swimming in a sea of rum, were gazing up at him. “’M sorry, Casey. I’m making it awkward for your family … Whatever this is, it’s my fault ….”

Shit. 

For lack of other options, Casey grunted. The last thing in the world that he wanted to deal with, between commies and gun control nuts, was a passel of squishy feelings. “Just let me finish this.” He nodded at the jeans around Chuck’s thighs, and began to tug them down, careful to keep his boxers in place. “Then, go to sleep.

For once, maybe for the first time in the history of the Intersect being placed in the head of an impulsive kid, orders were followed. Casey looked at that slack face, crazy-ass hair standing up after being pushed through the sweater, smooth cheeks flushed from booze and emotions …. 

Chuck was out cold before the jeans hit the floor.

23 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
09:12 am CST 

The clack of an object being set down close to his throbbing head forced a jolt out of the kid. But jolting, and in fact, moving at all could be stored under the heading of Ideas that Royally Sucked. An aching, swelling spike of pressure was sloshing his poor Intersect-laden brain against his skull. The inside of his mouth felt furry, like a small fuzzy animal had curled up in there to sleep. Or die.

Rolling onto his back, Chuck’s eyes fell open to tiny slits, and he groaned. 

The groan was still reverberating when he felt the edge of the mattress dip and sway as something large settled next to his hip. “Brought you coffee.”

Eyes flitting open, the kid drew in a breath and let it out slow. A new scent, one that wasn’t old socks or dried sweat, hit him. Vanilla and cocoa butter, mingling with the nutty roasted smell of freshly brewed coffee. This told him two things: Casey had already taken his shower … and now he was here to torture him.

“N’ coffee.” Chuck brought his forearm up to cover his eyes. Even the tiniest bit of light seemed intent to slice into his brain. “Go away.” 

“Mother says drink it. And I brought more aspirin and a glass of water.” The sound of Casey taking a long satisfying sip of coffee filled a pause. “Besides,” and he stopped to pull back the blanket just a little. “We need to discuss the cover.”

Chuck groaned again. “The cover? Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Yep,” Casey replied, the corner of his lip curling up. “I know you’re new at this kid, but next time, keep in mind there are boundaries to a cover relationship.”

Boundaries? Chuck had expected Casey to tell him to step it up, or try not to screw it up, so the mention of some boundary that had been breached was news to him. Shifting his forearm, he squinted up at his handler, a smudge in a charcoal grey sweater and jeans. He blinked, trying to focus. “Huh?”

“Jesus. In bed. When no one’s around? No need to take the cover quite that far, Bartowski.” Then he added in that low rumble of his, “Though, I like your enthusiasm, kid.” 

Chuck’s brain was still sending waves of misery through all his limbs, but he finally convinced it to fire a few synapses his way. He needed a little help here. “Wh … what are you talking about?”

Casey just smirked down at him and took a long drink. A thumb passed along his temple, forcing Chuck to open his eyes wider, only to see Casey balancing the cup on his knee, leaning in close. “Maybe you should get dressed.”

“Dressed?” Chuck swallowed to get rid of the fur on his tongue. “What …?” Lifting the edge of the blanket, he tipped his chin down and caught sight of his bare chest and legs. Only a thin pair of boxers stood between him and a complete lack of modesty.  
“Wh-where’re my pajamas? Didn’t I at least have a shirt on? “

“Said you got hot. Oh, and it would be kinda hard to ‘take the cover to the next level’, as you called it, when we’re fully dressed, eh?” Casey winked and lifted his steaming mug. “Way to think outside the box, tiger.”

“Next l-level?” Chuck’s eyes sprung wide. “What does that even mean? Did we –”

“Christen the sheets? Give ya the jiffy stick? Yep.” Casey licked his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Never knew you thought I had pretty eyes. I thought that girly crap about my jaw was bad enough.”

Chuck gasped, eyes frantically roaming from Casey’s chest, his arms, and finally up to his blue eyes, holding a devious glint. “Oh my God oh my God….” Feeling a strange shiver in his gut, the kid buried his head in the pillow. “I had sex … with you … and I don’t remember anything?”

“Heh. I should be insulted by that, Bartowski,” Casey said, matter of fact. “But you seemed damned enthralled at the time, so I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“Wait…. Wait. This is your f-fault!” Beneath the pillow, Chuck’s face took on the pallor of the Ghost of Christmas Past. “How could you let me do that? I was –”

“You were passable. I’d give you a solid B minus. A little practice and we can get that grade up, right, teach?” Casey chuckled again, this one sounding even more lewd. 

“B minus! Are you serious? You –!”

“Me? Now I was freaking fantastic.”

“Fantastic?” Chuck peeked up at him and his voice went up an octave. “How … how would you know?!”

“Hell, that’s what you kept telling me.” The agent bent over and picked something up off the floor; one of Chuck’s socks. He twirled it in his hand. “Had to stuff this in your mouth so Mother wouldn’t hear her son taking a ride on the Nerd Express.”

“I came onto you? Is th-that what you’re saying?”

“Yep.” 

“And you w-went … along with it?”

Casey made a noise of indifference. “It was only ten thirty. I figured hitting one out of the park would knock me out for the night.” 

“What?!” Chuck sucked in a sharp breath. “Let me get this straight: we had sex because there was nothing good on TV last night?!”

Casey shrugged, a movement that clearly said ‘what the hell’s your problem?’ and took another noisy slurp off the top.

Chuck’s fists tightened on the blanket; his breath stuttered. This was partly due to the fact that sweaty imagery was dancing in his brain, and partly due to the fact that for a reason he couldn’t begin to fathom, he needed to remember what happened last night. 

Okay, let’s be logical here, he told himself. Considering the miniscule quantity of action he had experienced over the past five years, of course he wanted to remember what sex with his terrifyingly large and intimidating handler would be like. That had to be it, right?

Oh, God. Chuck ducked his face in his hands to cover the crimson flush.

With his thoughts swirling and his head pounding, he almost didn’t catch what came next. A deep, warm belly laugh rumbling in Casey’s chest. “God, Bartowski” he said. “You are too damn easy. 

“Too easy…?” Staring up at the agent while his over-clocked brain attempted to process the meaning behind his grin, Chuck’s mouth slowly fell open. “You lied?! You … you asshole!”

“Is that any way to talk to your boyfriend?” Casey shook his head at him and grabbed his coffee again. “Though, I thought you would like a good story – after the one you told at the dinner table.” 

Chuck sank back into the pillow and huffed. “I can’t believe you did that to me.”

“Oh, trust me, princess, you would’ve known if I had done something to you,” Casey said in hushed voice, snickering into his coffee.

Chuck had to fight a cough and looked to the side. “Uh, did you have another reason to come up here?” He dragged his hands over his face, wondering why he was totally flustered by this. “You know, besides to make me feel like an idiot?”

“As a matter of fact, yeah.” The mug of coffee settled on the night table and Casey assumed his mission demeanor, steely eyes and still jaw. “I need your game face, kid,” he said flatly. “Beckman called.”

“Wait? Here?” 

“No, she sprouted wings in her ass cheeks and flew here.”

“God, this is too early for your euphemisms.”

“Yes, she called.” Casey handed him the aspirin and picked up the glass of water. “In her words, she regrets to disrupt what is sure to be a pleasant visitation with my family – the General has never met Mags, I guess – but an opportunity has surfaced.” Casey grunted, one that Chuck recognized when the agent sniffed the possibility for a shoot-out. “A chance to exploit a weakness in the Velentzas Syndicate.” 

“What does that even mean?” 

“Well, it means that a piece of slime oozed into St. Louis last night and it needs to be dealt with.” Handing off the glass to Chuck, he stood up and tossed his duffle bag on the foot of the bed. “Gotta get your lanky ass back in gear. The Intersect is required for this one.”

Chuck frowned. He didn’t want to know the kind of migraine a hangover-induced flash would cause. “So, we have a mission? Here?”

“Yeah. Looks like my boyfriend and I are going undercover.” Casey nodded at him to take the aspirin and chase it down with the water. “We’re going to a club. You get sit there and flash. Fun, huh?”

“Wait. Are you serious?”

“What? Worried, Bartowski? Don’t be.” Casey looked down at him and the edge of his mouth quirked. That always made Chuck a little nervous. “I’ll still be leaving with you, sunshine.”

“Comforting.” Chuck pulled the pillow over his head. He was still in too much agony to deal with Casey’s brand of humor this morning. Because he was only kidding about the Intersect … there could not be a mission tonight, right?

“Ass up, Bartowski.”

The kid marveled at the number of meanings that had. “Can’t wait.” 

He almost didn’t hear the husky chuckle.

-x-End Meet the Kin Chapter Five-x-

The plan is to post the final chapter on Christmas Eve. Thanks for being here!


	6. Chapter Six

Meet the Kin – a Twisted Tale of Christmas (Chapter Six)

It could have been the steeple bell  
That wrapped us up in its spell  
It took us only one kiss to know  
It must have been the mistletoe 

\- Barbra Streisand

23 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Living room  
01:34 pm CST 

“Johnnie? What are you doing?”

From his comfortable sprawl on the sofa, snuggled under the crocheted blanket that Mother had provided, Chuck flashed a look towards the kitchen. The hint of admonishment in her voice was directed at her beloved son, forcing Chuck to sit up a bit higher and take note. 

Casey and his mother stood next to her Mr. Coffee Maker, where Casey had just helped himself to a steaming mug of bitter joe. The cup stopped mid-air in his hand before he could take a sip. “What is it, Ma?”

“Honey.” Mother pointed her sugar spoon at him. “Your poor boyfriend is sitting on the couch, trying to recover from a hit and run with Mrs. Weiscoff’s punch bowl, and look at you,” she said. “Helping yourself to the last of the pot instead of taking that to him.” 

“Hell, I was just –” 

In a swift move, she tapped Casey’s ass with the spoon and pointed to the living room sofa. “Now, take that in there to him and see if he needs anything else.”

At him, mother and son turned towards the mussy-haired occupant of the couch. Chuck, realizing he was now the center of their attention, decided to put on his puppy eyes. After all, he was still stinging from Casey’s little attempt at humor this morning, and a cup of coffee did sound somewhat palatable.

So, Chuck flashed a goofy smile at her. “Thank you, Mother Casey.” He turned his grin to his cover boyfriend. “Isn’t it … nice, John, to have your mother around to remind you of your manners?”

Casey’s knuckles went white on the handle of the mug. His jaw ticked as he stared at the kid for ten interminably long seconds. “Thought coffee would upset your stomach, Chuck.”

“Oh, no.” Chuck worked up a nice cough for his performance and looked over with a hangdog expression. “Coffee sounds, uh, nice, actually.”

Mother’s pointed elbow in the small of his back got Casey moving. “Find out if he needs anything else while you’re over there, Johnnie.”

Chuck’s sleepy smile became more brilliant. “Now that you mention it, an extra cover would be nice, too. While you’re up, anyway.”

He could see Casey tense, shoulders stiffening, but Mother Casey bumped him on his back one more time. “You heard him, Johnnie. I have an extra blanket in the closet.” 

“A … blanket.” Said with the dander reserved for Obama’s health care plan.

“Ah-ah.” Mother gave him a little push towards the living room. “Deliver the coffee first. Before it gets cold. Then, come back for the blanket.” She returned the kid’s dazzling smile. “Chuck’s waiting.”

“We can’t have that now, can we?” her son replied, making Chuck wonder how he could speak like that without moving his lips. Cocking his head at him, he sauntered over to the side of the couch. “Here.” Sloshing it a little, Casey passed off the cup abruptly. “Your coffee, princess.”

Frowning at that, the kid made a point to peer down into the cup, taking a deep sniff. The agent loomed over him, watching while Chuck’s eyes then tracked up to Casey’s face. “Oh. No cream, I see … Boo Bear?”

Casey’s eyes narrowed as he bent down to Chuck’s eye level, noses nearly touching. “… End this game …,” he mouthed deathly quiet, taking the mug from his hand. The ‘or else, God dammit’ went without saying.

“Boo Bear?” Both men jumped as Maggie popped her head from around the corner of the stairway. “That is so sweet,” she drawled, exchanging a look with her brother, and then to Chuck. “Got to hand it to you, kiddo, I never thought we’d find someone to tame the giant grizzly.” With a smirk, she patted Chuck’s head in a way he thought was slightly patronizing. “Nice work.” Maggie turned to her mother and slipped on her coat, waving a small piece of paper in her hand. “Are you sure this is everything you need from the grocery store?” 

Chuck glanced up at her, brows crinkled. He was still stuck back on kiddo. Really, would it be so unusual for a man like Casey to have a, well, somewhat younger boyfriend? 

Shit! On what planet was it okay to have thoughts like this about his handler?! It was a cover! Not real … not real. Fake. 

“That’s it for now, Margaret. Johnnie?”

Casey’s head spun. “Yes, mother?” He had a perturbed look on his face that Chuck guessed was on account of the reference to being ‘tamed’ … and the fact that it was his asset that had done the taming.

“Did you hear him?” Mother asked, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “I have some cream in the back, second shelf. I think Chuck said he needs – wait, you don’t know how Chuck likes his coffee?”

“He, uh –” Casey started.

“I know. Terrible, isn’t it?” Chuck heaved a dramatic sigh. “It’s almost as if he’s … un-teachable.”

The feral noise warned him that the proverbial line had been crossed. “I heard it, Ma.” Tightening his grip on the mug, Casey prowled back into the kitchen with the cup and returned a minute later. He leaned over him. “Upstairs. Now,” he mouthed.

Chuck looked up at Casey and smiled, took a nice loud sip. It almost drowned out the tiny voice in his head chanting oh, crap.

23 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. John’s boyhood bedroom  
01:53 pm CST 

Casey folded his arms over his black polo and stared down at the kid. The bedroom door was closed, but he lowered his voice to an urgent whisper anyway. “What the hell was that all about with the coffee?” 

Chuck looked up from his seat on the edge of the bed. “You’re testy, which, I might hasten to add – as your cover boyfriend – signals that you might want to cut back on the caffeine, big guy.”

“I’m not your manservant.” Casey lowered his face until his eyes were dead level with the kid’s. “You pull that crap one more time, and –”

“Let me remind you, I think it’s fair to say I owed you one after – well, you know.” An idea struck the kid, one that he should’ve realized when they were downstairs. “This isn’t about the coffee, is it?”

Blue eyes narrowed menacingly, scanning his face. “What are you talking about?” Casey began pacing alongside the bed like a caged lion. “Isn’t the fact that you had me jumping through goddamn –” 

“You’re mad,” Chuck said, starting to smile in earnest as he watched Casey walk back and forth, “Because they li –”

“Don’t you say it, Bartowski –” Casey growled, picking up speed.

“Like me. They like me, okay?” Chuck reached for his bag and pulled out a clean t-shirt, holding it up to shake it out. “Get over it.” 

“Get over it?” Casey skidded to a stop at the side of the bed where Chuck was busy smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt. “You’ve got them in a fucking tizzy!” he hissed, dragging a palm over the back of his neck. 

“A tizzy?!” 

“Giving them that charming smile. Using those big eyes on them … dammit.” Casey began pacing again. “You have them half blinded for fuck sakes….”

“Big eyes? Now, hang on, Casey. I’m just being myself. That’s all. I can’t help it that she made me sit on the couch the entire time you and Danny struggled to get the tree straight, or watch you restring all the lights when the bottom strand went out.”

“Yeah, you were a lot of help there, muffin, telling us it was crooked and the lights on the top were too close together. And the way mother was waiting on you the entire time.” Casey gave a derisive grunt. “Way to milk it, kid.”

“It was just hot cocoa. Besides,” and Chuck became wary, not looking up as he rooted for a pair of jeans, “I can’t help it if they think we’re … well … good for each other. You wanted me to sell the cover, didn’t you?”

“Sell it? Fuck.” Casey grabbed the jeans out Chuck’s hand to get his attention, and the kid looked up at him with indignant wide eyes. “Sell it? You’ve got my mother and sister so worked up, they’re picking out china patterns, for Chrissakes sakes! Probably think matching rings are going to pop out of the stockings.”

“What?!” At the mention of rings, Chuck gaped at him and the bag he was holding hit the floor. “They think I’m going to ask you –?”

“Heh.” A step back and Casey halted in front of the kid, letting his eyes roam over him from curly mop to black Chucks. “Look at you, Bartowski. That’s not the way it would work. I’d be the one doing the asking.”

“Wait a minute.” Chuck felt his chest tighten and his heart rate picked up speed. “We’re going to be –? They think we’re getting engaged? Oh my God, oh my God….”

“Hold it together, sport,” Casey threatened in a low tone. “There’s a bigger issue tonight, and I need your A game.” 

“Bigger?!” Chuck pushed his hands through this hair. The room was warm again and maybe he was still not thinking clearly. “What could be bigger than your, oh, I don’t know, can we say nice but slightly pushy family having us married and living in the suburbs with our Irish Setter and two cats!”

“Boys, everything okay?” Two movements jarred the kid at once. One, Mother Casey had elbowed the door open and was now standing at the threshold with a neat stack of clothes in her arms. And two, the moment the door had sprung open, a large warm hand landed on the curve of his neck. Idly, Casey’s fingers flipped a few curls at his collar. 

“What is it, Ma?” he asked, coolly.

She smiled and laid the stack on the bed. “I brought your clean clothes up.”

A thumb grazed the bare skin there. Another playful flip of a lock. 

Chuck stopped listening until he heard his name.

“Clean clothes? Mom, you didn’t need to do our laundry. Uh, Chuck would’ve been happy to take care of that.” Raising one brow at the kid, he gave him a smug look and ruffled his hair one more time before pulling his hand away. “He does my laundry at home all the time.”

Hastily, Chuck fought a frown and cleared his throat. “Actually, I –”

“Don’t be silly, honey. It’s not a problem.” Mother Casey patted his elbow. “Your things are on the bottom of the stack and your boyfriend’s are on top. “I should warn you, though,” she said, becoming sheepish, “I wasn’t sure whose … underwear was … whose, so they’re all mixed together.”

Casey brought up a hand to rub his forehead. “Seriously, Ma, you didn’t need to.”

“I know. You don’t like anyone touching your things.” Ignoring his look of disdain, she divided the clothes pile three times – his, his, and boxers of unknown origin – at the foot of the bed. Then, she winked at Chuck and smiled. “He’s possessive with his stuff – but you would know that, right?”

“Mother, I –” 

“Uh … John? Possessive? Well, he never lets me out of his sight,” Chuck muttered only to himself. “It’s like he’s watching my every move.” 

“Is that true?” Mother piped up. 

Holy crap. Casey was right. Mother does have the ears of a bat.

“I don’t want to give you relationship advice, but … Johnnie, you don’t want to suffocate him.” 

“Mother.” Casey turned to her, hiding the fact that his fingers had begun to squeeze in just imperceptively on the curve of Chuck’s neck. “Can we have some time alone?”

“Of course, sweetie. Dinner’s in a few hours. I’ll give you kids some … privacy.” Winking, she pulled the door closed behind her.

It took approximately one point nothing seconds for Casey to position himself in front of Chuck and lower his face to his. Close enough to see every detail of his irises, like shattered glass from a bullet hole. Close enough to feel warm breath brush his jawbone. 

Before Chuck could open his mouth, the hand on his neck tightened. The other cupped his chin, and with a thumb at the corner of his lips, Casey used firm pressure to lock it in place. His face was steered up an inch or two to meet his eyes.

“Are we even now, Bartowski?” Casey’s tone was guttural as he fixed him with a cold, hard gaze. “Or do we keep playing?” 

The kid’s dark eyes stared back. So close and dangerous. Chuck shivered, trying to turn his face … and part of him vaguely wondered if it was a reaction to the words, cool as ice, or the warm touch on his jaw, the smooth fingertip resting close to the corner of his mouth.

He shouldn’t be thinking about this. 

“Uh, yesh,” he managed without being able to move his chin. “I think we ‘r.”

“Yeah. Good.” Casey eyed his face, flicking a look down to his mouth. “Because I’d go head to head with you if that’s what you’d like, kid.”

“H-head to head?” Flushing, he tried to nod, but that didn’t quite work due to the grip on his face. So, Chuck simply gulped and forced a smile. “We’re g-good. Promise. Truce.”

With one last look, Casey released his jaw and rose to his full height. “See, you are teachable,” he observed, pleased with himself. 

A sour look was probably safe, Chuck figured, so he made a good show of it as he picked up his bag that had tipped over on the floor. “Did you want me alone in here to threaten me, or was there another reason to come here?” Shit. That came out all wrong. Another furious blush lapped his cheeks. “What I meant was –” 

For a moment Casey eyeballed him, then chuckled and waved him off before he could turn redder. “Shut it. I already told you. Beckman needs the Intersect tonight.”

“Did we just not agree to a truce?” Chuck asked, sounding petulant.

“That’s why I’m telling you the truth.”

“I thought you were just trying to see how far you could push me this morning.”

“Which would’ve been easy to do considering your swellin’ melon when you got up.”

“Always glad I can amuse you, Casey,” Chuck said, reminding himself to curb his sarcasm. “The mission?” 

“The General called while you were sleeping it off.”

“Not my fault, by the way.”

“She said one of Greece’s finest imports to the Midwest – and by that, I mean a piece of bottom feeding scum of the earth that goes by the name Giorgio Damianos is in the city.” Breaking it off there, Casey focused on the kid’s face, waiting for the fluttering of his eyes. “Well?”

“Sorry.” Chuck held a hand up. “The name didn’t trigger anything.”

“Well, lucky us, maybe his face will.” Casey strolled over to the dresser and opened one of the top drawers, digging to the back. “The only pictures of this butt nugget were loaded into that computer in your noggin. There’s chatter that Giorgio is in St. Louis. Apparently, he’s got family that immigrated there.” Scoffing, he pulled something out of the drawer. “Even low lifes want to be home for Christmas.”

“Wait. I had nothing on him.” Chuck tapped his temple to make his point. “So, why is the NSA concerned with this guy?”

“He’s not the primary target. Giorgio is an associate of a man the government is very interested in.” Casey swiveled from the dresser so that he could watch Chuck’s face before he went on. “Lucchese Sakafias”

“Luc –” The flash spiked him like an ice pick between the eyes. With a gasp, Chuck’s eyes fluttered while the Intersect did the dirty work, swamping him with grainy images and files of data. 

A perfect yellow and pink tinged columbine. A bloody severed hand in a roasting pan. A child pointing an AK-47. An oily starling, holding intestines in its beak. The flower.

“Oh … no.” When Chuck blinked and refocused his eyes, Casey was standing in front of him, peering down in curiosity. “Oh, crap.”

“Spill, Intersect. What was it?”

“First, thanks for that,” Chuck noted. “Appetite completely gone. Sheesh. And I was just starting to look forward Mother’s pot roast tonight.” 

“Forget about your stomach, kid.” 

“Okay, okay.” Chuck looked up at him and blew a sigh. “Let’s just say he’s a man with many interesting hobbies. Arms deals, drug trafficking, contract killing … oh.” Chuck swallowed.

“What?”

“Human trafficking. Young girls.” 

Casey headed to the dresser again, this time pulling out a small case. “Anything else?”

“Well, yeah, I can tell you his weight and favorite cologne.” Chuck’s shoulders sagged in disgust at the one key piece of information lacking in the flash. “What was so nice of the Intersect to withhold is where he is now. I can’t tell you that.”

“No, you can’t,” Casey said, matter of fact. “But our friend who has showed up in town is his trusted associate. We meet up with him, get him to talk, find out where this dickhead is holed up.”

“Get him to talk?” A familiar pang of nerves hit Chuck in the stomach. “I know what that means in Casey vernacular.” He looked up at him with a face full of worry. “Shouldn’t there be a moratorium on, uh, bloodshed when we spent the day putting up a Christmas tree with your mother? Seems a little incongruous, don’t you think?”

“Heh. Personally, I think they go together like egg and fucking nog, but hey.” Casey lifted a shoulder with indifference. “Not everyone sees the world like I do.” 

“Like you?” Chuck blinked up at him and tilted his head, forgetting all about his iPod he had started digging for in his bag. It took a few tries, but he finally found his voice. “Buddy, I hate to tell you this, but your perspective has got to be, oh, I don’t know, one in six billion and counting.” 

Casey grunted; not amused. “Wanted to try out my new Christmas gift to myself.” Reaching into the back of the nightstand drawer, he pulled out the silver plated monster. The agent smirked and shifted his grip, bringing the gun up to point an ice blue gaze down the barrel. “Maybe see who’s been naughty this year.” 

“Holy …. You brought that with you? Put it away! What if your family sees it?”

“Calm down, Bartowski. Jesus.” Lowering the weapon, Casey set it back in the drawer and shook his head at him. “One, I don’t keep the ammo in her, and two,” he said, not hiding the fact he was miffed, “I don’t get to rub out Giorgio tonight.”

“Um, so, we meet up, get him to talk … without your usual persuasion?” Chuck kicked off his shoes and looked up, confused. “How is that going to work … exactly?”

“Other methods of persuasion.” Casey went back to sorting ammo in the small case he had pulled out, not looking up. 

“Uh, other methods?” Chuck’s frown deepened. “I think I’m very well versed by now on other methods.” He squinted at him and waited. Still nothing. “But, I feel I should point out the obvious. Beckman does know that Sarah isn’t here, right? How does she expect us –?”

“Let’s just say, Walker wouldn’t quite fit in where we’re going.”

“What do you – oh. Oh.” Maybe he was still feeling the after effects of the rum and Pabst, but the light bulb finally clicked on. “I … see.” Chuck put the bag down so that he could give Casey his full attention. “So you mean Giorgio … he … well –”

“Likes guys. Is that what you’re trying to stutter out, Bartowski?” Closing the box of ammo, Casey pushed the drawer shut with his hip and came around the side of the bed. “A bit of a player too, according to the sketchy Intel Beckman had. The chatter they picked up says he’s in town, and the team on the ground there thought he paid a visit to a local establishment.”

“Thought? Why didn’t they just –”

“They couldn’t ID him,” Casey said, reaching out to tap Chuck’s forehead. “That’s your job, Intersect. I already told you. We need positive recognition that this Giorgio asshole is who we think he is.”

“Huh. I’m just surprised the NSA didn’t use their other failsafe methods,” Chuck replied, not hiding the sarcasm this time. “You know … nothing like a little torture with your turkey for Christmas, hmm?”

“Yeah, I wish.” Chuck was amazed at how wistful Casey could sound at the prospect of missing out on that. “Orders,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

“Orders … not to … you know. Then I don’t get it. Care to explain?”

From his seat, he watched as Casey strolled around the bed again and eased in, standing almost in the spread of his thighs. The agent’s gaze traveled over him, and Chuck knew it was to gauge his reaction – and get his attention.

Well, mission accomplished. The kid leaned back to peer up at him, feeling the heat of Casey’s body, arms crossed only emphasizing the bulk of his tightly packaged frame. “Are you saying –?”

“Beckman thinks if we bring him in, it will send up a flare to Sakafias, and he’ll go deeper into the hole. So, we’re stuck with Plan B.”

“Plan B?” Chuck waffled, stopping to smooth down his hair. “I don’t think I’m … uh, I’ve never really done –”

“Christ. Not you, Bartowski.” There was amusement in Casey’s eyes. “Your job here is to go into the club, flash and stay out of it. Once we know who this douche is, I’ll make a move. Get friendly with him. Get him to spill. I know what buttons to press to get a guy like this talking.”

“I thought ….” Chuck turned his attention back to digging through this bag. What was he looking for? Oh, yeah. His iPod. He stopped to clear his throat. “Never mind, then.” 

“Yeah, well, you just sit there and watch. Can you handle that one, kid?”

“Then … what?”

“After I find out what this prick knows, I’ll ditch him and join you at your booth.” Casey idly picked at a stray piece of lint on his shirt. “If we blow out of there in a hurry after the hook-up, it’ll raise suspicion with Giorgio. So, we wait.”

“How long?”

“Hell, I don’t know, Bartowski. Long enough to make sure none of Giorgio’s goons are watching us. That they think we’re just a couple who had a lover’s tiff.”

“Oh.” Chuck failed miserably at keeping a dirty look off his face. Thank you, NSA, he thought, realizing even the voice in his head sounded whiny. “So, if I’m to understand our mission, we walk into the club together, if I flash you ditch me to go flirt with Giorgio, and then you come back to the table again.” The kid’s brow had become a furrowed knot by the time he got it all out.

Casey gave a half shrug. “Yeah? What about it?’

“Are you serious?” Chuck gave him a look of irritation, though to be fair, this wasn’t Casey’s fault. “I knew my cover was your boyfriend, but I didn’t realize doormat was part of the job description,” he remarked, huffing. “I mean, doesn’t it seem a bit rude to treat someone that way? Flirt with a man and then come slinking back when that doesn’t work out?”

“Maybe you pissed off your boyfriend and he’s gonna look for something of the non-nerd variety. Take a full-sized SUV out for a test drive.”

“Hilarious by the way. Glad you see it my way.”

Rolling his eyes, Casey reached out and tapped Chuck on the head, enough to get him to stop talking and listen up. “Look at it this way, Bartowski.” His hand clamped down on his wrist to stop him from fiddling with his iPod. “Consider this: no matter what happens, a nerd like you gets to leave the club with me, eh?” 

“Charming and modest. How did I get so lucky?”

23 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Living room  
07:24pm CST 

“Maggie! Get the camera, will ya, honey?”

“Up here, ma.” Her voice was muffled behind the bathroom door. 

“Get your butt down here. Wait until you see how handsome the boys are.” Casey’s mother set down her coffee mug and grinned at them. And just like that, Chuck felt a black ooze of guilt starting to coat his cut. God, she looked so happy for them. 

“Can we skip the damn camera, Ma?” 

“John … sweetie.” Forcing a smile, Chuck nudged him in the stomach. “Icksnay on the swears to your mother.”

Mother beamed at the kid.

“You’re doing it again,” Casey muttered against his hair. “Stop it.”

“I can’t help it,” Chuck answered without breaking his smile. 

Casey didn’t seem to have a reply for that besides the look. Merely tucking his thumb in his pocket, he walked into the living room and leaned against the arm of the sofa, watching the end of a football game. The matchup had the full attention of Danny and Casey. Even Andrew, sitting on the other end of the couch, was stopping to look up from his DS. 

“Here it is,” Maggie said, coming down the stairs and handing off the camera to her mother. After the pot roast dinner, she had changed into sweat pants and slippers, getting ready to settle in for the night. “So, this is what a real date looks like?” Giving both Casey and Chuck an appreciative nod, she darted a look at her husband. “Danny?”

“Two minutes left, Mags,” Danny said. “Oh, and remember? We did go to Chilis last week.”

Maggie folded her arms over her fleece shirt. “See what you two have to look forward to?” A few seconds later, she grinned, discarding her annoyance with her husband as she inspected them from head to toe. “You look very dapper by the way.”

“Go stand by the tree, Johnnie.” Mother pointed, expecting them to comply. “That will look nice.”

Chuck jolted when he felt a warm, smooth palm glide into his and hold on tight. Cover hand-holding was another thing he was not quite used to yet. “C’mon, kid.” Tugging on him, Casey steered Chuck to the tree and stood ramrod straight, posing for the camera. “Take it already, will you,” he grumbled, not appreciating the limelight.

“I know you hate pictures, little brother, but when people ask me what’s got you so busy that you can’t come home, I want to have something to show them.” Her eyes roved over Chuck and she smirked. “They want to see what has you in a fluster and taking up all your time.”

“Fluster? I sure as hell –”

“Just stand there.”

Casey made a noise deep in his chest, but he stayed put. When Chuck slanted him a look, he was reminded once again that his handler could’ve at least told him what to pack. Who knew that maybe they would be going out one night? Because it was Casey who was looking dapper. There he was, wearing a black sport coat over a deep blue polo shirt and a pair of dark jeans. Casual, but still nice. 

Chuck, on the other hand, had only jeans in his bag, but did manage to scrounge up a long sleeved chocolate brown t-shirt that was only slightly wrinkled. 

Heaving a breath, he put on his best face and smiled for the camera. 

Thinking that a quick escape was a click away, the kid was puzzled when Maggie lowered the camera and narrowed her eyes at them.

“What is it?” Casey asked.

“Is Chuck … sick?”

Her brother shook his head, though his eyes drifted to the side to wander over Chuck’s body. “No. Why?”

“Anything contagious?”

“No.” He folded his arms, getting more peeved at his sister. “What the hell is this about?”

“I just thought that since he was standing a foot away from you that something was wrong.” Maggie motioned with her hand to move in. “For God sakes, put your arm around him, hmm?

Of course, Casey, as the consummate professional, didn’t shirk from his cover. Chuck braced himself for another groping, but the hand that warmed him was not unpleasant. Not at all. Instead, he found himself stifling a tremble. A freaking tremble.

“Ah. Okay.” A pause, then a surge of alarm when a strong forearm snaked around his waist and pulled him in close. And since he hadn’t quite figured out how to position their bodies when Casey tugged against him, Chuck ended up turning sideways, and now the front of his jeans were pressed into Casey’s hip. 

Oh, God. 

Before he can land on the arm placement that won’t get him killed later, Casey grabbed his wrist and drew his arm around his middle, under the sport coat. Reflexively, Chuck took a deep breath, inhaling his musky scent; he was hit with the balm of cedar and spiciness, that tang of masculinity that seemed to trail from him. Subtle, restrained. It reminded him of a dim lantern or candles … smoke of a fireplace cracking and dwindling …. 

To be sure, Chuck took another long whiff. 

“Perfect.” One click and a blinding flash that had them blinking, and mother and daughter were finally satisfied. 

“I can’t believe you’re driving all the way into town tonight.” Mother Casey sounded concerned while she nodded her approval at the picture on the tiny display. “I thought we would stay in and play cards.” 

Chuck tried to splutter out an explanation, but he was completely distracted. For some reason, Casey still had his arm wrapped around his waist, a hard thigh touching his. “Chuck wants to see the city. I thought we could go out one night, eh?” A thumb rubbed in a small circle over his t-shirt, right above his waistband. 

“Th-that’s right. We’re going … what is the name of –” He was cut off when Casey leaned over close, kissing him on the lips. Heat, wet … teasing his mouth with a thorough push.

Shut up, it seemed to say.

Considering his lips, warm and firm, were pressed his to mouth … well, this time, it worked. 

“We’re gonna have some fun,” Casey told them, pulling away. “We’ll get out of your way for awhile.” 

Chuck sucked in a breath and attempted not to stare. “F-fun,” he stammered. “Yes. You know. John wants to show me his uh – ah.”

A pinch on his waist interrupted him before the babble went into overdrive. “Gotta go,” Casey broke in. “Be back late. Don’t wait up, Ma.” Snatching the kid’s arm, he toted him towards the door. “Bye.” 

“Stay out of trouble,” Mother Casey called after them. “Call if you run out of gas.”

Casey groaned, not loud enough for his mother to hear, and tossed a coat to the kid. “Take it. Let’s go.”

Chuck gave him a bewildered brown eyed look, but took the coat and shrugged it on. If the nerd wasn’t still utterly flustered by the surprise blitz of a maddeningly warm kiss, he would’ve found it humorous. 

Didn’t Mother know? Her son was trouble. 

23 December 2008  
The Bad Dog Saloon. St. Louis  
09:43 pm CST 

Chuck looked up from his beer – taking careful sips after the apple cider sparkle that had knocked him on his ass the night before – and watched a couple of men looking cozy make their way past his booth. No one had so much as spoken to the kid since Casey shoved him into the leather banquette and told him to stay. Thinking about it, his brow wrinkled at the way he had been dismissed after that. He blamed it on the fact that ‘Spy-mode’ Casey had joined them on the trip down to the city. And, of course, he had a job to do.

Granted, the agent had been dead on about a few things. The Bad Dog Saloon was a name that brought up shadowy visions of leather and leashes, but Casey told him it was a respectable joint, and the way he had said it … well, he wasn’t just guessing. As it turned out, he wasn’t yanking his chain either. The Bad Dog was a proper dance club; large comfortable booths rounded the perimeter and smaller tables were clustered closer to the dance floor. Not a leash or tether in sight. It was in the same vein as any other dance club, except for the disproportionate number of cruising men, looking for an early stocking filler.

To him, none of it mattered. He had a job to do as well. Just as they had circled the long bar – Casey had muscled his way through the crowd with Chuck behind him – the Intersect did its crazy thing with uncanny predictability. When the kid stumbled into Casey’s back, the larger man turned, a sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue – and it was then that he noticed the flash. Taking his arm, he all but dragged Chuck to the corner booth where he now found himself. 

“Where?” Casey demanded, lowering his mouth to Chuck’s ear, scanning the crowd.

“Second from the end of the bar. Mister Abundance of Hair Products over there,” Chuck mumbled. “That’s him.”

“Are you sure?”

Chuck gave him an exasperated look and pointed to his temple. “I wish I weren’t.”

“Good.” A hand tightened on his shoulder. “Again, you are to stay here. You got that, Bartowski?” 

“What should I do if somebody … you know, comes on to me?”

“Jesus. Do what you usually do. Stammer about your job or talk about video games.” Casey smoothed his jacket and zeroed in on his target across the room. “That sends ‘em scattering like buckshot, doesn’t it?”

‘Ha.” Chuck glowered at him over the top of his beer. “Don’t you have a job to do … Mike?”

“One more thing, twerp.” Casey’s eyes had that pre-mission gleam when he looked down at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“If anyone asks you to go up to the Attic, maybe starts to tow you along while you’re still sputtering, well, don’t go.”

“The Attic? What’s that?” 

Even over the pulsating music, Chuck could hear the sly sounding grunt. Casey winked at him, fingers tightened on his upper arm. “Something you’re not ready for, kid.”

Before Chuck could ask the next dozen or so inevitable questions, the larger man strode away. 

23 December 2008  
The Bad Dog Saloon. St. Louis  
10:28 pm CST 

Look at him over there, Chuck thought, taking a long pull from his bottle. Schmoozing, smiling, touching him on the back – who even knew Casey had a pickup smile? A nice one, too. Sweet without the saccharine. 

It was too warm in here. Too many people.

The kid was barely paying attention to the transmitter in his ear. Hearing the agent flirt with another man was not supposed to make his stomach flip. It wasn’t supposed to make him mope into his beer. So, he decidedly was not moping. No way. 

Look at them. Where this jealous streak was coming from he had no idea, because it was just a cover, and Casey was not his real boyfriend. Still, listening to them was damned annoying. 

Chuck continued his non-moping by tearing the wrapper off the beer bottle and rolling the pieces into tiny balls. Flicking his finger, he watched to see how close he could get to the edge of the table without having them fall to the floor. One … two ….

God, listen to them. Chuck dared a brief look. Did Casey just put his hand on his leg? Not moping, and not scowling either, he fiddled with his iPhone and found a new game to download …. 

But something in Casey’s voice changed, the way his tone modulated and hardened, drawing Chuck back into the dialogue. 

“Mike … I can tell you’re a straight shooter. Am I right?”

Odd yet scarily accurate question. The sudden shift had set Casey on edge and there was only silence from the transmitter at first. This could not be good.

“You could say that,” he heard Casey reply cautiously. 

“Good, I knew I figured you out.”

Chuck felt all the air being squeezed out of his chest. What had this douche figured out, exactly? Whoa. He also realized that hanging around with Casey was beginning to rub off on him.

“Figured out what?” Casey made it sound curious, but keeping it a little flirty. 

“You want it straight?” Giorgio was quiet after that. When Chuck angled his head to peek towards the bar, he saw that the man was taking a drink. “You are the kind of guy I want to meet … in January. But not now.” 

“What … does that mean?”

“Look at you, Mike. Tough. Headstrong. A serious proposition. And if I were looking for a seven course meal tonight, you would be it. But, you see, I’m here for a something … quick and simple. A sweet dessert, and then? I’m gone.” The mic relayed another pause. “Something easy ….” Chuck dared to look up again, only to see him gesturing distantly. “Something like … that.”

The kid closed his eyes. Please no, please no, please no … 

When he finally worked up the courage to glance in their direction, he caught a greasy smile from the other side of the bar. 

Oh, shit.

23 December 2008  
The Bad Dog Saloon. St. Louis  
11:02 pm CST 

Casey handed the waiter a few bills and nodded, keeping his line of sight pinned towards the end of the long bar. As luck would have it, the piece of shit had not noticed them arriving together, so there was still one viable alternative to salvage the op.

Yeah, it took some convincing – in the form of crowding the kid into the last stall of the men’s room and giving his ear a twist – before he saw the logic. A spy needs to be adaptive in all scenarios. Flexible enough to exploit a weak spot. That was one lesson Chuck needed to learn about the spy game. 

Tonight, class was in session.

Brushing aside the tiny balled up pieces of wrapper, the NSA agent settled into the booth to observe the amateur attempt at a pickup. 

Shit. 

Through his ear bud, Casey listened to the initially awkward dialogue, not certain what to expect from the nerd. One thing was damn sure. He knew if he heard the words action figure collection or Yaris, it was a bust, and he would need to get the kid the hell out of there. 

Then, the uglier part would come. Tell Beckman the mission was a botched job. Lick their wounds on the route back to Coalton, and plaster on a smile for Mom by the time they hit the back door. Because, hell, yes. She’ll be waiting.

But surprisingly, Casey thought, lifting his scotch on the rocks to his lips, the kid wasn’t doing too badly for a half-cocked rookie. Look at him over there. Flushed cheeks. Blazing grin that could rip the retinas out of an unsuspecting mark. That skittish thing he does with his hands, pushing them through his messy hair…. 

Oblivious. The kid has no idea. A shy smile, wide brown eyes, and he has not a fucking clue how well he’s using them. He has that douche giddy with the scent of guileless nerd. 

Jesus. Casey lifted his drink again, staring. Was the man gonna start humping the kid’s leg? Just get the goddamn Intel and about face, soldier. 

“Are you staying around here?” 

“Uh, no … no… I’m actually staying with some relatives for the holidays. You know how it is, though.” Casey heard the kid laugh, a jittery one, but doing a passable job of hiding it. “I just had to get out of the house before they pulled out the matching sweaters and all. Or tried to stick their noses into everything.”

Sonovabitch. Did he just throw Mother and his sister under the bus in one line? Damn, they were gonna have a long talk on the way home. 

Swirling his drink, he slanted a look just in time to see the slippery dickhead put his hand on the kid’s thigh. Okay, so, maybe he couldn’t see his cover boyfriend getting felt up like a bruised melon, but hell. When Giorgio’s hand disappeared under the table and the kid flinched like fifty thousand watts were shooting through him, did he need the genius to tell him he was being pawed by this guy?

“I’m … only going to be here a few days, in fact,” Giorgio said. “I’d love to show you around the city.”

Fuck. Is there an alternative universe where these lame-ass lines actually work? Does the kid look like an idiot? 

“Well, I don’t know ….” 

Casey raised his glass, allowing him to rumble into the two-way mic on his watch. “Just say you’ll go. Anything to keep him talking.”

“I’d, uh, love that,” Chuck said, picking up orders through the ear bud. “I was hoping to have some fun before heading back to West Palm.” From a distance, he could see that the nerd pointed a wheedling grin at him and touched Giorgio’s arm.

Begrudgingly, Casey conceded that it was almost impressive. In one sentence, Chuck had steered the conversation to an opening and lied like a thief. The kid was making it pretty damned difficult to disparage Plan C.

“West Palm, huh?” Giorgio took a drink and leaned in close, lips nearly brushing Chuck’s cheek. “We’re both used to being … warm. I’m headed to Belize in a few days. Back to business with my associate … and he hates to wait, so I don’t have a lot of time. Maybe we could ….” 

“Chuck, not good enough. We need the name of the city,” Casey warned into the mic.

“Uh, Belize City is nice, I hear?” His voice had a slight shake. Chuck coughed to cover it up. “It’s sunny there … isn’t it?”

Christ. Seriously, kid? The damn weather. Casey would’ve buried his head in his hands if it wasn’t for the mic.

“Belize City?” Giorgio made a sound. “Dangriga. You … should come sometime.” 

Casey’s head snapped up and he almost tipped over his glass. Unfuckingbelievable. The nerd pulled it off. Chuck pulled it off.

In a heartbeat, the agent twisted in his seat – just in time to see Giorgio plant a forceful lip lock on his cover boyfriend. Feeling his jaw jut out a tiny bit, Casey lifted the scotch to his lips again and his back muscles stiffened. 

“Alright, kid,” he growled into the mic. “Spill your drink on his lap, slap him for the tongue hockey he just mooched off of you, and tell him you think your boyfriend is headed over to the table.” Standing up, the agent squared his shoulders, grumbling into the transmitter. “And tell him he looks pissed.”

23 December 2008  
The Bad Dog Saloon. St. Louis  
11:38 pm CST 

“What now?”

“Walk.” Not waiting for arguments or questions to pour out of his mouth, Casey’s fingers bit into the flesh of Chuck’s bicep, towing him along. 

“Do you mind? We talked about this. Arm, remember? Not a handle.”

“Quiet,” Casey breathed against his hair, not letting up. “If we haul ass out of here, Giorgio and his merry band of numb-nuts over there in the corner will peg us as the Feds.”

“So, what are we doing?”

Casey drew to a halt at the out-of-the-way booth and slid across the leather seat to the corner. He was still dragging Chuck by the arm, which earned him a baffled look from the kid. 

“Why don’t you play the part of repentant man-slut for your boyfriend?” Casey suggested coolly. 

“Man-slut?” Chuck looked up quickly and rolled his eyes at him. “Funny, Casey. Good session here, buddy. Another breakthrough in our relationship.”

The agent ignored him. Letting go of his arm, Casey rested his back in the corner cushion. “C’mere,” he told him, patting the seat next to his thigh. “Lean back.”

“What?” 

“Jesus. Here.” Impatient with the coy act, Casey slipped a thick arm around his waist and tugged until Chuck’s back was pressed to Casey’s chest. “Act like you have some making up to do, eh?” he said low against Chuck’s ear. “That ass hat friend of his who is watching us might realize his boss just told you something he shouldn’t have. Need him to think you’re just a kid who was trying to do the naughty under his boyfriend’s nose.”

“The what?” Chuck gave him a dour look. “I don’t know why I had to be the slut in this scenario.” But he listened. Casey felt the kid recline back against his chest, seeming to settle in and get comfortable. After a moment or two, Casey felt him let out a sigh. “How long … are we staying here?”

“Until I think they’ve forgotten about us,” Casey said and he lifted his drink. “Just enjoy the view of your first gay club.”

The music was thrumming. The Bad Dog was noisy and festive by now, men in good spirits, intending to drink, dance, and find some action. A lively conversation was bubbling out of the banquette next to theirs. 

Which meant that Casey almost didn’t hear Chuck when he spoke. Almost.

“Second,” the kid said softly into his beer and tipped the bottle for a drink. 

There was a pause where Casey simply gazed out onto the dance floor, watching the nearby couples talking or flirting, before he realized the kid had said something. Casey set down his scotch. What he wanted to do was clean out his ears because he thought he had just heard Chuck Bartowski, Esteemed Nerd Herder at Large, tell him he had been in a gay bar before tonight. 

“What did you say, Bartowski?” 

Since he was pressed to him, Casey could feel the kid fidget and take a breath. “Forget I said it, okay?”

“Nuh-uh.” A large shoulder moved, nudging Chuck in the back while Casey kept his arm wrapped around his waist. “We’ve got some time to burn while we wait … and I think this is a story I wanna hear,” Casey said. “Spill, kid.”

“I really shouldn’t –”

Casey tightened the arm around his middle to stop his protest. “Do it.” 

“First, it’s not a story,” Chuck argued, keeping his voice down. The beer bottle swiveled in his hand uneasily a few times. “It happened.”

“So?”

“So, if I … tell you ….” Angling his head around on Casey’s shoulder, he tried to make eye contact. “There is one ground rule of my own this time.”

Casey shrugged but didn’t put up a fight about it.

“You heard me.” The kid twisted his fingers around his thumb, a gesture Casey had seen a million times. “You can’t – no laughing. You have to agree to that or it’s not a deal, Casey. No matter what you say or do.”

A sarcastic comment had been right there, but the serious profile and tight lips caught him off guard. Casey tilted his chin, accidently grazing it against curls on Chuck’s collar. “Yeah,” he replied. “Fine. No laughing.”

“Just remember that. And trust me, you’re going to want to when you hear this.” Chuck looked away and moved his shoulders against Casey’s chest, relaxing into him. “Just … don’t bring it up again, okay?”

“Oh, hell.” With Chuck’s back nestled into his shirt, Casey couldn’t see his expression, but was certain there was a thin veil of hurt in those dark eyes. “Deal, Bartowski.”

“My sophomore year at Stanford,” Chuck started, fumbling some. “That’s when I … well, you see ….”

“Just say it.” Casey lifted his drink. “Spit it out, for Chrissakes.” 

“Well, it wasn’t Jill’s fault, but it happened after she broke up with me,” Chuck pointed out, making a scoffing noise. “I’m not even certain what the break-up was about. Maybe Sherry – that was her roommate – convinced her I was a dweeb who would never amount to anything or it –”

“Are we getting to the part where you ended up in a gay bar, kid?”

“Hold on, Casey. Geez. I’m getting there.” Chuck shifted in Casey’s hold, and he was noticing hard angles of that rangy body pressed to him. “I didn’t want you to think I was still dating –”

“God, like I give a shit if you two-timed that traitorous bitch? Think kid. She was a Fulcrum agent.”

“Anyway,” Chuck said stiffly, “A couple of the guys thought I needed to go out. We ended up a frat party on the other end of campus. The SigNus were having their typical Saturday kegger.”

Casey’s eyes narrowed. “Is Larkin’s name gonna come up here?”

“It has nothing to do with him.”

He grunted, this one all parts skepticism. “Go on. I’m listening. Kegger party with the nerds at a frat house.”

“Oh, God … this is … okay, there was a guy there. A little older. An alumni of the fraternity. He graduated a few years before then and was working for Apple as a developer. Nextgen devices and –”

“Bartowski.”

“I know, I know. I won’t go into the detail of that conversation.” Chuck went back to picking at the wrapper on the bottle. “We talked – a lot. I guess you could say we hit it off, and he seemed interested in helping me in the nomination process for a summer internship.”

“Internship? Something tells me it didn’t work out that way.”

He felt Chuck tense against him, and the kid took some time crumpling up a bar napkin while he carefully chose his words. “Well, yeah,” Chuck acknowledged. “Anyway … it was a cool night. Everyone was inside. Music was blaring out the speakers. People were dancing on the pool table and getting a little crazy, so he took me outside.” 

”To get away from it all, huh?” 

“So that we could talk.”

“God, Bartowski.” Casey shook his head, noticing a group of men that had stopped a few feet away. “Lemme guess. You fell for that.”

“May I remind you of the laughing rule?”

“Go on, kid.” A deal was a deal. Becoming serious, Casey poked him in the ribcage with the hand that was draped over his middle. “I’m listening.”

“There was a sitting area out by the pool and we grabbed a few folding chairs,” Chuck said, glancing back at him. “At the time, I thought he was a great converasationalist. You may not believe this, but I was little … awkward –”

“Heh.”

“– even in college, but he was easy to talk to. More beers, more talking and … we lost track of time, you could say.”

“Fuck,” Casey growled into his scotch. “Here we go.”

“Yeah, well … when I said I should go find my buddies and try to bum a ride home, he stood up and put his arm … around me.” 

Casey’s arm tightened a little around his waist. He reminded himself this was different. It was a job. “Knew we’d get to that part.”

“And he kissed me. Okay, yes. It happened. I was a little drunk, he took me off guard, and … I might’ve kissed him back.” Chuck took a drink from his beer and swallowed hard. Casey could see it was nerves. “He told me we could go upstairs and later he’d take me home in his Mustang.”

For a brief moment, Casey considered a joke about being a man-slut after all, but something about it seemed off. He frowned into a mess of curls that were tickling his chin. “What did you do?

“I stood there like an idiot at first, stammered out something … I don’t even know what I said. I finally told him I wasn’t ready to you know and he asked for my number. He said he wanted to take me out for a decent dinner.”

“Tell me you didn’t ….”

Chuck was silent for a long moment and buried his head down in his drink, twisting the bottle in his hand again. “I thought he liked me for me.” He hesitated. “I was … curious, alright? There I said it. He was good looking, successful, seemed to be a good guy … well, I thought that was the end of it. I’d never hear from him again anyway so why did it matter.”

“Wait a damn minute. Curious?”

Casey felt him move. The kid’s back was warm against him; half due to the proximity of body heat and hard muscle, half due to the fact his cheeks had to be crimson. “I was always a little … even in school … uh, no. I have another rule. I’m not talking about that part.”

“Fine.” Hell, he of all people didn’t need this spelled out. Guys. A woman or two. An opportunity was just that. You take ‘em when they land in your lap. He shifted the leg Chuck was leaning against … nearly sitting in his lap. “But he called you … of course,” Casey prodded.

“Somehow, you’re not surprised, but yes. He called a few days later, and he … arranged to pick me up on the following Friday.” Chuck snorted humorlessly. “I skipped dinner at the cafeteria because I thought we were going out to a restaurant. One that had printed menus you could hold instead of neon ones on the wall behind the counter. Tablecloths. I was hoping it would be nice.”

“Jackass dragged you off to a club instead?”

“Yep. I should’ve known when Marcus picked me up a half hour late, but I –”

“Marcus? Ah, fuck. This just gets better and better.”

“Yeah, well, in hindsight, agreed. That should’ve been my first tip-off.” Chuck’s voice faltered, as though still holding some hurt. “He decided that we should have dinner after a few drinks at a club.” Repositioning against Casey’s shoulder, the kid glimpsed back at him. “Apparently, Marcus had a late lunch with a client, so he wasn’t hungry.”

The hand around his middle brushed over Chuck’s shirt. “You still went out with this dickhead?” 

“I … well, yes. I know, okay? So, he picked me up in his Mustang. Traffic was horrible that night – worse than usual. I remember the rain was coming down in buckets. It took us an hour to get into the city.”

“The club, Bartowski?”

“Okay, the punch line then: we ended up at a club. That was a first for me, but I got the impression he was a regular there.”

“What kind of club?”

“It was – oh, God, nothing like that! Just a normal dance club … for men. It was very classy, actually, which was the only pleasant surprise.” It had to have been a mistake, but Chuck’s fingers trailed along his arm before he rested them there, fidgeting. “I was wearing jeans and a Stanford hoodie – I really didn’t own anything nice,” Chuck explained. “To put it mildly, I felt a little out of place.”

“Heh. In a joint like that, you had to be the most popular boy there.”

“Uh, no. Seriously, I was too nervous to notice. I think I just managed to blend into the woodwork that night.”

“Blend in?”

Chuck took in a deep breath and let it out. “I should warn you, I’m getting to the part where you’ll want to laugh, and my ground rules are still in effect.”

“God, just go on, Bartowski. This damn story is longer than my arm.” And nothing to do with the arm that was now folded around his asset’s waist, holding him firmly to his body. “Get on with it, already.”

“Okay, to his defense at least, Marcus was very attentive when we got there. We found a nice booth in the corner –”

“Easier to be attentive that way, eh?” Casey tacked on a contemptuous noise. 

“– and we had a few rounds. I told him I was happy with a Budweiser, but he ordered something called an AMF, I guess.”

“… the hell?”

“I Googled it later. It stands for Adios Mother … well, I’m sure you the drift.”

“That bastard.” Casey’s voice was terse. Maybe when he was staring up at the ceiling tonight, he would sort out why this story was pissing him off so badly. “Nerds and straight liquor. Something tells me that this is where the story goes south.”

“But not in the way you think. I was holding it pretty well, actually.” Chuck’s hand dropped to Casey’s knee, long fingers splayed out on his thigh; his other hand was resting on the arm at his middle. Casey told himself it was only for the cover. “After about an hour or so, Marcus complained that the waiter was too slow, and he would go to the bar to get us another round himself.”

“And you?”

“Me? Well, I waited about twenty minutes before I thought I should go look for him. By then, I had to find the men’s room anyway.”

“You found the creep.”

“Um-hmm.” Chuck moved his hand to take a drink, but it landed back on Casey’s arm again when he was done. The contact was rippling through him, but the agent was still. Listening. “Marcus was talking to a group of guys that he must’ve known from somewhere. It was so … weird. He looked over and saw me, but didn’t wave me over … just kept talking to them. I figured he would be back at the table by the time I got there."

“MIA?”

“You could say that. I waited thirty minutes this time. The waiter had even decided to show up again, so I ordered us another round. I was starting to get ticked off by being deserted like that.”

“Let me get this straight. It took you that long to get riled? Jesus, kid.”

“I’m not you, Casey. I can’t just tell people to go screw themselves.” Chuck just shook his head, reached down and brushed his other hand over Casey’s leg again. Did he realize what he was doing? “Well, I finished the drink and got up one last time. I mean, to hell with it, right? Maybe he didn’t want me to meet his friends for some reason. Maybe I wasn’t good enough for them.”

Casey quickly went for his drink. The movement was the perfect mask, because Chuck would’ve felt his muscles knotting up through the thin shirt. It just pissed him off, that’s all. Nothing else.

“But when I circled around the bar, they weren’t there anymore. I thought maybe they had found a seat, so I grabbed his drink from the table and walked another lap.” 

“And?” Still holding him, Casey absently rubbed Chuck’s waist where his fingers rested. It seemed like something a cover boyfriend would do. 

“Well, yeah. I found him. In a back booth on the other side of the club with one of the men he had been talking to. They we’re being … friendly.”

“What the hell, Bartowski? You shoulda went over there and kicked his ass.”

“Okay, one: I omitted the detail that Marcus was tall and built, ergo, he would’ve kicked my ass. Two: the guy he was making out with would make the Captain look mediocre next to him.”

“Okay, fuck. I believed every word of this damn story until you got to that part.”

“Believe it, Major Casey. I’m embarrassed to say it’s all true.” The kid paused and Casey felt every muscle in his lean body go taut against him. “That was a first and new low for Chuck Bartowski. I’ve never had someone stand me up on a date while we were on the date.”

“Who the hell would do that to a stupid kid?”

“I’ll admit to the stupidity on that one, Casey, but I was a grown man. I knew what I was getting into.”

“You were what? Nineteen?”

“Twenty,” Chuck corrected, giving him an affronted look. “An adult.”

“Twenty. Pfft.” Casey muttered under his breath unintelligibly for a minute. “My stupid kid observation stands, then.” He took a longer sip as he thought about it. “This guy. Marcus you say. You ever hear from him again? Know where he lives, maybe?”

“Thank God, I have no idea – wait. Are you suggesting…?”

Casey moved a shoulder nonchalantly and swirled the amber liquid before taking another drink. “Be easy enough.”

“Seriously?” Chuck inclined his head, blinking at him – and his eyes widened when he saw Casey’s no bullshit look. “While I’m both honored and horrified that you want to off someone for ditching me on a date, it really is not necessary. I’m good now, thanks.”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Christ. What do you think I am? I’d only rough him up a little. Didn’t say I’d kill him. Maim maybe, but not kill.”

“Comforting.” The music changed tempo. A slow song. Chuck pressed against his chest, his arm still draped over Casey’s thigh, outstretched hand still resting on his jeans. It was all for the cover, he was sure of that. Yeah, good thinking, kid. Instantly, Casey squeezed him around the middle, and he seemed to relax into him. “Then I shouldn’t tell you the end of the story,” Chuck said, biting down on his lip.

Casey used a shoulder bump to joggle Chuck’s back. “Finish it,” he said. 

Then, because this shit never goes according to mission specs, it hit him. His agent senses kicked in. 

They were being watched. 

Right there. The bastard wearing the grey sport coat who hung with Mister Hair Products. His eyes were on Chuck. Feeling the reassuring bulk of the SIG jammed into his lower back, Casey quietly took in every detail of Senor Nervous Tic in Poly Blend who had drawn to a halt near their table. 

Chuck was still talking. Oblivious to the man watching him, the kid swept his fingers through his hair. “This is it, though. No laughing, no –”

Yeah, kid. This is it. Trouble. 

Before he could finish his thought, Casey had a hand firmly on the side of his neck. It moved up to cup his jaw, framing his face, and he ran his thumb over Chuck’s lips. 

“What are you –?”

“Close your eyes.” Not now. This was not the time to argue. Later, when they left the club, he could explain to the kid that a dark haired man with black eyes had stopped to talk to the patrons in the booth next to theirs. But those coal eyes never left Chuck’s face. A calculated scrutiny.

Despite the soft order against his ear, Chuck kept his eyes open and tried to turn to him. In answer, Casey’s hand tightened, held his head still. “Do it.” The drill sergeant tone. With his head lowered, Casey grazed his lips along the skin of his neck, tender and exposed. 

“I didn’t …..”

“Shut up.”

A brief hesitation, but Chuck clenched his teeth; brown eyes drifted shut. 

Blind trust. Chuck would need to trust him. Believe that he’s doing this – now kissing along the swell of his tendon, the curve of his neck – to keep the cover intact. Keep him safe. 

Threading his fingers under his hair at the collar, Casey found the nape, massaged him there with his fingertips. Chuck started to open his mouth. 

“Shh. Don’t.” He never shuts up. Casey laid a light brush of lips on his jaw, and then lowered again to press a burning kiss on the back of his neck. 

This time, Chuck was perfectly still, letting him do it. Not breathing. One nip, a lick under his ear and Casey felt the kid’s fingers convulse into his flesh with the grip on his knee. 

“… tip your head a little, let me …,” Casey rasped low. “Yeah, like that,” he whispered when Chuck willingly complied, giving him access just as Casey teased the edge of his ear. 

“… what …?”

“… Don’t move….” His palm was curving around his neck, knuckles running along the slope of his rigid jaw, another sweep of lips in the hollow of his throat …. 

And this time, Chuck gave him a little groan for the teasing. The larger man smiled against his humid skin. Good strategy, kid, but he can’t hear you. As he traced the kid’s jaw with his mouth, Casey curled his fingers under the hem of his shirt, bare hand to warm bare skin. 

Chuck swallowed hard. Brushing his mouth along his throat, Casey could feel the shiver, felt him suppress a hitch in his chest. He liked the feel of that … so he did it one more time, light tender kisses on his collarbone …. 

When he gave a fleeting look to the side, the dark haired man had slinked away from the table. Casey stilled his lips, because he was not disappointed by this. Not liking his smooth skin right there. No fucking way. 

“He’s gone,” Casey murmured against the side of his neck. 

Chuck looked like he was still holding his breath. Eyes still closed. For a moment, Casey stared at him. Now is not the time. 

He elbowed the kid. “Bartowski.”

Dark eyes flew open, looking completely fuddled. He saw that the kid’s lips were parted slightly, harsh breath while he tried to find his voice again. “I … what ..?” 

“Can it.” 

“But, wh-what the hell was that?” Chuck blinked at him. “Wait. Gone? Who’s gone?” 

“Not now,” Casey replied, letting his fingers drag out from under his shirt. One long arm remained around Chuck’s waist, still holding him to his chest and stomach. “Finish your damn story so we can get out of here.”

“My … st-story?” Casey could feel him draw in a steadying breath.

“Yeah, you had just been dumped while on a date.”

“I still don’t get … why….” Whatever the kid was thinking about, it made him keep his head down and turned away from the crowds. After a half minute, he took another drink. “Okay… fine,” he said, studying his glass. “You want to hear the end ... Well, I walked out of the club and I had forgotten it was pouring rain. I was drenched. Soaked to the skin and freezing. That was about the time I realized I had no way to get home. I couldn’t really call anyone … since I hadn’t ….”

“You didn’t tell anyone you were going out on a date with a guy.”

“Yes. That. So, it took me an hour, but I found a cabbie who would take me back to campus for the meager amount of one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Ellie would’ve killed me if she knew I had to spend a month of pocket cash on one cab ride,” Chuck said glumly, taking a long swig. “And that is the story of the gay club. Sorry you asked, right?

Casey shook his head and said nothing for a few minutes, not focusing on the points where their bodies were pressed together. Instead, he swirled his glass again. Once Chuck settled his head into the crook of his shoulder, Casey pushed a few curls away from his lips, but didn’t bitch about it. 

It was … comfortable. Warm. No doubt, he was not expecting to feel this way – hell, not a chance – but the heat and lean muscle up against him was … okay. 

Lifting his glass, he then felt Chuck brush his hand back and forth lightly over his knee.

“Casey?” he heard the kid say.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” Chuck tipped his chin up to look him in the eyes. “For not laughing.”

“God, Bartowski, when are you going to learn not to be such a goddamn doormat?”

“Considering I just broke up with my fake ex to date my other ex, who happens to be a double agent, and then my cover girlfriend called it off for good – well, I’d say I’m still a work in progress.”

Casey huffed and took another long pull from the scotch.

A stretched out pause was broken only when Chuck wriggled his shoulders against Casey’s shirt and heaved a sigh. Not an uncomfortable silence, one that Chuck would have the urge to fill with verbal squirming, Casey noticed. It was … kind of warm and muzzy, and he wondered vaguely if a half hour had passed since they sat – snug – in the out-of-the-way booth. 

It had to be the heat in this joint. 

Glancing to the side casually to scan for goons, Casey shifted his arm slightly around Chuck’s waist and tucked his thumb in a belt loop, appearing to the world as simply a possessive boyfriend. For the job, the cover, of course. The agent told himself it was probably safe for them to leave, but on the other hand, why chance it? Maybe Giorgio’s men were still shadowing them from the VIP lounge or the not-so-discreet CCTV video surveillance he had detected. He and the kid could stay here like this for a few minutes longer. Wasn’t gonna endanger the op any.

Two songs later, Chuck reached up and tapped his bicep. “Casey?”

“Hmm?”

“I know … it’s only for the cover, but could you loosen your arm … just a little?” The kid sounded a bit winded. “You’re really holding me tight, and … its okay, but I can’t breathe so well.”

-x-End Meet the Kin Chapter Six-x-


	7. Chapter Seven

Meet the Kin (Chapter Seven)

What was I supposed to do  
Standing there, looking at you  
Lonely boy so far from home  
\- Maybe it Was Memphis, Pam Tillis 

24 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
08:53 am CST 

“Maggie.” Casey lifted his head off the pillow, bleary eyes focusing in the corner at a fuzzy blue bathrobe. “What … the hell are you doing in here?”

In reply, he heard a rustling sound as his sister pawed through a drawer without looking up. “Mom needed some needle and thread. She also wants to know when you’re getting up, which is probably the reason she sent me in here for the – oh. Here we go. Thread.” Maggie held up a spool, examining it in the dim light. “Needle ... needle …. how can she find anything in –”

“God, stop digging, will ya?” Casey asked, his voice raspy. Scrubbing his hand over his eyes – strangely, he couldn’t move his other hand – the agent made a mental note to bring goddamn locks on the next visit. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine. Ah, here it is.”

“Hmm?” Blinking, he tried to lever himself up on an elbow, but he wasn’t having much luck with that maneuver either.

“Don’t move, Johnnie.” His brain finally registered that Maggie had been whispering the entire time. “You’ll wake up Chuck.” Sidling up to the bed, she nodded down at them, her lips curled in a teasing smile. “He looks so comfortable and sweet there, doesn’t he?” Her voice had dropped so low that Casey had to strain to hear her. “Still hard to believe my bad ass brother found someone to put up with him.” 

“Chuck? What the fu –?” 

For a trained spy, it was discomforting that it had taken him a full thirty seconds to unravel the mystery of his pinned arm and the reason he wasn’t able to sit up. 

Because had he figured it out, he would’ve known that the kid was tangled around him, pressed tightly in a swelter of warmth. God knows when, but sometime in the night, Chuck had rolled over on his side to face his handler. One long arm was draped over Casey’s chest and a lanky leg over his knee. His head – with a few curls standing up and tickling Casey’s jaw – was tucked in the hollow of Casey’s shoulder, his face pressed to the bare skin there. Even breaths grazed his neck; the kid was sleeping deeply, all of his sinewy body slack and very warm against him.

Oh, shit. 

That wasn’t all of it. Casey was on his back, but at some point while dead to the world, he had slipped an arm under Chuck’s shoulder, holding him into the crook of it. Holding him in sleep as if he was afraid of losing something.

No. No. No.

Casey’s stomach muscles tightened. Wait a damn minute. He distinctly remembered that there was a fair amount of space between them when they drifted off. Not nestled like lazy lovers. Not like this. 

Still standing next to the bed, Maggie folded her arms over her blue bathrobe, and for good measure, she gave him a big sister wink. “Don’t let Ma see you so comfy. She’ll bring out the camera again.”

“Yeah, well, we’d be a lot more comfortable if we had some damn privacy when we’re in bed.” Casey used his free hand to signal towards the door. “Get out,” he mouthed. 

Too late. The mop head tucked under his chin twisted to the side, and one eye opened to a slit. 

“Casey? Who’re you –” Chuck mumbled, sounding mostly asleep, his cheek pressed flat on the agent’s bare chest. “What’s all the … oh. Oh, crap.”

“He calls you Casey?” Maggie observed with a playful toss of the spool in her fist. “That’s strange … but kind of cute.” 

“Ca –? Gah!” 

Blankets flew everywhere. Long legs and arms flailed, but Casey ended that by using his hold to clamp down on the kid. Stay put, dammit. He heard another muffled yelp of surprise and gave his sister a pointed look. “Jesus, Mags, can you leave now? Chuck isn’t accustomed to the twenty-four hour surveillance that you and Mom keep up in this joint.” 

That was his job description.

“Hah.” She turned to the gaping-mouthed kid with a half-apologetic look, but the mischief was just under the surface. “Sorry, Chuck. Didn’t mean to put a scare in you this early in the morning.” Patting his arm, she strolled to the threshold. “I’ll tell mom you’ll be down for breakfast in a few minutes,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her.

Chuck was staring at the spot she had just vacated for so long Casey wondered if he had forgotten how to breathe. At last, the agent heard him swallow hard while he attempted to lurch up a little. “I’m never going to get used to your family.”

“Join the fucking club,” Casey muttered. Now that they were disentangled, the agent moved over cautiously and dragged a hand over the back of his neck. Chuck was sitting up on his elbows, looking rumpled and bewildered, watching him with those dark wide eyes of his. Casey took one look at the kid and shook his head. “I have a lifetime membership.” 

He tried to hide it, but Casey saw Chuck cast a look at the space on the mattress, right in the middle where they had been sleeping contently just a minute ago. 

“Casey?” Look at him. He’s gonna start up that stuttering and – oh hell, that damn blush thing that Ma finds so endearing, no doubt. “We should talk about … well, we kind of –”

“You slept. I slept.” Casey climbed out of bed with his back to him and lifted his arms in a long stretch of limbs. “Sometime in the night, you decided to wrap yourself around me like a damn puppy. Now, we’re awake.” Sliding the nightstand drawer open, he took out his SIG and set it on the dresser next to his duffel, not making eye contact. “Nothing to over-think. End of conversation.” 

But something told him the kid wouldn’t see it that way.

“What? Are you kidding me? We were … we had our –”

“Knew it,” Casey grumbled. “There it is.” 

“Here, hold on.” Chuck kicked off the last remaining sheet that hadn’t been flung to the floor. “You … it wasn’t just me doing the wrapping there, big guy,” he said, sounding emphatic. “In case you didn’t notice, you were holding onto me, too. I felt your … well, your arm around my shoulder!” 

“Were you listening, Bartowski?” Turning to face him, Casey crossed his arms over his bare chest and sauntered over to Chuck’s side of the bed. Making him get a good eyeful of why he shouldn’t argue. “What did I just say about over-thinking?” 

“Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah.” Now that he had Chuck’s full attention, he took his time positioning himself. Wanted the kid to feel the heat looming over him, and sitting like that, eye level with the muscles of his forearms … yeah, it worked. Whatever to get him to shut up. “Sounds like over-thinking in my book.” 

“I don’t think its over-thinking when –”

“Bartowski.” And just to make sure everyone in the room was paying attention, he repeated it in his head a few times first. “Nothing is going on here,” he growled. “Got it?”

Chuck’s eyes went dark, lost, his brows slowly wrinkled up, giving him that look that had to have taken twenty-eight years to perfect. A fucking puppy that just got kicked out the door, soggy in the rain. 

“You know what, Casey?”

“What?” Casey let his eyes travel down the gangly kid and back, just to make him squirm.

“You’re not the easiest person in the world to have as a cover boyfriend,” he huffed. “Just sayin’.”

Casey grunted, this one telling him ‘acknowledged and duly ignored’. Turning, he went back to rooting around for a clean shirt from his bag.

24 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
11:29 am CST 

“Excellent work, Major Casey. Tell the asset we appreciate his efforts.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Casey was seated at the chair in front of his mother’s sewing machine with his laptop open, sardined in next to a stack of quilting fabric. Not the usual SOP, but neither was being called into duty during an approved six day leave. Never mind the pesky detail that his asset was posing as his boyfriend. 

“The team in Belize has been activated,” Beckman told him. “I’ll inform you of the results.”

The agent nodded, keeping his stoicism intact. “Thank you, General.” 

“On a side note, I hope the … asset has not caused undue stress on the time with your family.”

“No ma’am.” Casey half-turned to the door. “It took a while, since the asset can be –” a curly-headed pain in the ass … with his dopey grin and big brown eyes …. “– unpredictable, but it seems my family has … warmed up to him.” 

“Good.” The General drummed her fingers on her desk, almost smiling. “Happy Holidays, Major. We’ll see you back in Burbank,” she said, reaching to cut off the video feed.

“Ma’am,” Casey broke in, setting down a thimble he had started to fiddle with under the table. When she wordlessly arched one of her brows in question, he jumped on the silent order to make it fast. The General had very little patience – as in nil – when she deemed a conference closed. “Uh, there’s one other piece of Intel.”

“I thought you had shared all of the pertinent details from the mission, Major?”

Glancing at the bedroom door – he had wedged a book under it for a makeshift doorstop – Casey straightened his shoulders and trained his gaze on the screen. “The Intersect had an unrelated flash last night. At the club,” he said. “Perhaps you would like to get another team on this one, General.”

“What is it?”

“A man who has used his connections to get his name removed from the TSA Watch List.”

Her curiosity was piqued. The hand that had been hovering over the button slowly settled on the armrest of the chair. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Apparently, the subject is involved in money laundering, off-shore hidden accounts …. He may be funneling cash to known terrorist’s organizations.”

Beckman set down a report she had begun to peruse. “You have my attention. What else.”

“General … uh, unfortunately, the flash did not contain the full name of the individual in question.” Casey shifted in the seat, keeping an ear towards the door and marveling that Maggie or mom hadn’t found an excuse to barge in. “However, the Intersect did provide some loosely related facts on the subject,” he said, keeping his voice neutral. “Ones that I believe should provide enough Intel for a team to track him down.”

“I see. What did the Intersect have that we can use?”

His chin jutted out like a good soldier. “Ma’am, the man’s name is … Marcus.” The strong angles of his face hardened at the name. “He attended Stanford in the late nineties or early two thousand.”

“I hope there is more, Major,” Beckman commented. “My analysts are good, but that is very little to go on.”

“Yes, ma’am. There’s more.” Remembering the story – and not recalling how warm human contact with a lean body could be – his hands clenched into fists under the table. “He was a member of the SigNus fraternity on campus there,” Casey informed her without a flinch. “And he owned a late model Mustang. Undoubtedly registered with the DMV.”

Beckman’s bottom lip puckered out as she considered the Intel. “Excellent,” she finally said. “Those details are certainly enough for us to track him. I’ll get a team on it right away. Again, thank the asset for his diligence.”

Casey was chewing down a bit too hard on the inside of his mouth to work up a reply at first. Lifting his hand, he coughed politely. “Yes, General,” he managed, without the smug smile. “I’ll let him know.”

Hell. He shouldn’t have taken some pleasure in the thought of a civilian on the receiving end of an NSA-sanctioned colonoscopy, of diverting government resources to extract a little revenge on an arrogant bastard who left a kid in the rain, but then again ….

Heh. 

“Thank you, Major.” Her finger was poised over the keyboard to disconnect the feed, and with the timing of the devil himself, there was pounding on the other side of the door. 

“Casey?” he head Chuck whisper, urgent. “What are you doing in our bedroom?”

Jerking his head, Casey looked from the door to the laptop, just in time to see the General’s face screw up like she had her panties in a wedgie. “Did the asset say… our bedroom?”

His deep groan was inaudible to the Beckman. Thank God for that.

“Uh, General.” No sense covering it up … because there was nothing to hide. Casey steeled his jaw, eyes fixed to the screen. “Before the cover could be formally established, my family concluded that Chuck – the Intersect – is my… partner.”

She eyed him for a moment, contemplating this scenario. “Commendable work, Major.” The General pushed aside the report. “Your government appreciates your sacrifice for the safety of the Intersect. And, it appears he is quite safe in your care, Major.” Beckman tucked her tongue in her cheek, and Casey swore he picked up on a twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Enjoy the remainder of your leave.” The NSA emblem appeared on the screen before he could say a word.

Jesus, Bartowski. 

“Casey?” Chuck’s voice was stifled from the other side of the door while he screwed with the knob. “Are you in there?”

“Keep it down, will ya?” Getting up quickly from the seat, Casey bent down and tugged out the book that was acting as a doorstop. He opened the door and yanked Chuck inside by the collar before he could ratchet up the protest. “Get in here,” he said, keeping his voice scratchy, menacing. “Move it.”

“Ow! Would you not do that?” Chuck rubbed his neck, then slanted his eyes towards the hallway. “What if someone in your family saw that?! What would they think is going on in here?”

“I told you, kid. They already know what’s going on in here.”

“Please. No matter how much we – you know – we would never do it under your mother’s roof.” His face immediately turned beet red. “Oh.” Chuck stuffed his hands in his pocket and looked away while Casey closed the door. “Um, I mean, if we really were together, we would not be –”

“Bartowski.” Did the kid ever stop and listen to himself? If they were together? Casey pushed aside the image in his brain, not dwelling on it. “For the love of God, just shut –”

“That came out a bit – well – I didn’t mean to imply that we would otherwise be testing the springs of the mattress like a pair of hor– forget I said anything,” Chuck blurted. That mobile expressive face shifted with emotions, burgeoning with feelings, and just maybe the kid had some bitterness there ... but Casey wasn’t looking too closely. “Because it’s only a cover, right, John, and we –”

The rapping of knuckles on the door drowned out his voice. “Johnnie? Is everything okay?”

The lilt of a feminine voice. Mother fu – not now.

“Oh, no.” Chuck jumped and his foot slid back until he bumped against the mattress. “Ow! Crap.”

No way, kid. Backing away from the cover wasn’t going to happen either. So, not lingering to study him, not paying attention to the confusion or hurt in his expression, Casey reached around his waist, pulling him in. Close enough to hear him suck in a breath of surprise. 

"Wha –?"

“Shh.” Whispered the second before his lips were pressed to his, another hand sliding around his jaw, increased strength gripping and holding him in place. Casey bent and kissed him, keeping it slow, steady. Moving his mouth over his, intent to swallow down whatever was spilling out. 

“Boys?” Mother opened the door, holding a roll of red and gold wrapping paper. “I thought you might want this just in case. Oh … oh!” Casey heard the roll of paper accidently hit the lamp when she tried to pivot around. She caught it somehow. “Sorry … I’ll just … don’t mind me.” 

The bedroom door closed behind her with a sharp thud.

Alone. Chuck jerked back at first and made a low noise. No doubt to fight him again. And just when Chuck’s hand closed over his wrist, he could feel his fingers curling, expecting him to try and remove the hand that was gripping his face – 

Casey did not expect the fingers to hold his hand there, just as resolute and sure. Or a quiet murmur of pleasure against his lips.

Don’t you fucking dare. 

Abruptly, the NSA agent pulled back and stepped away, folding his arms over his chest. “Open your damn eyes, Bartowski.”

“Wh-what?” His eyes sprung open, staring. Then, Chuck pushed a hand through his dark waves, looking ruffled, a little breathless at the onslaught. Rookie reaction to a cover kiss. That’s all it was. “What was that –”

“Mother,” he replied in the way of a one-worded explanation, meaning any other questions about the kiss would be ignored. “Where the hell were you?” Casey took another step to further the distance between them. “I had the conference call with Beckman.”

“I … I was ….” Chuck let out a breath and turned a confused look towards him. Wide brown eyes took in every taut slope of Casey’s face, searching – and then the kid looked up at the ceiling. 

“Well?” Casey wasn’t sure of that look, but … he was sure that the SIG had been neglected while he was here and could use a swish and some oil … and why the fuck was he looking through his shaving kit for the supplies? 

When he snuck a look at the kid, he saw Chuck giving a small shake of his head. Still, most of the confusion in his eyes was disappearing. “Okay, fine ….” he said, catching sight of the laptop sitting on the table. “I was … down in the basement.”

Dammit. Think. Side pocket of the duffle. That’s where it is. 

“Care to explain?” Casey asked coolly.

Chuck stepped back, apparently to get some breathing space between them. “Ellie had left a message and I wanted to check in with her. See how she was doing at the Awesome’s so far,” he explained. “Huh. I was surprised my 3G connection worked down there.” When Casey looked up from his cleaning kit to roll his eyes, Chuck continued, “I wanted to have some privacy, and you may have noticed, but that can be a problematic around here.”

“Heh. The basement?” Casey chuckled, underlined with derision. “Have you met my family, sport? Maybe in the neighbor’s basement you woulda had a fighting chance.” 

“Point.” Chuck plopped down on the bed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Speaking of which, what was that all about?”

“I told you. The General.” 

“No, not that,” Chuck said, leaning back on some pillows to study his expression again. “You were almost smiling when you let me in. And unless the General has had a successful personality transplant, I’m sure it wasn’t her witty one-liners.”

The brush swept in and out of the barrel. Swish. Swish. “No, it was the General,” he said casually.

“Really?” Chuck sat up higher. “What did she say?”

With a satisfied look, Casey inched forward so that Chuck would have to crane his neck to peer up at him. “Beckman was pleased,” he answered, feigning innocence – not easy for a black ops assassin, but hey, he had practice around Mother. “She thinks you have a promising future posing as the one night stand boy-toy for scumbags around the globe. In fact, she’s sending a plane later tonight to see if you flash on a Bathe separatist at the Gandy Dancer in Omaha.”

Chuck puffed up the pillow and gave him a dirty look. “Boy,” he grumbled. “Being with your family has opened up a whole new spectrum of mockery in your personae.”

Casey grunted, pleased with himself. There it is. See? Nothing. Nada. He went back to brushing out the barrel.

“Uh, do you need this?”

“What?” Casey looked up from his precise swabbing to see the kid signaling.

“Your chamois.”

“Yeah.” Furrowing his forehead, Casey held out a hand. “Where was that?”

“In … your shaving kit?”

Fuck.

24 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Kitchen  
01:47 pm CST 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Chuck spun around in the direction of Mother Casey’s voice. More practiced in the family ways, Casey merely hesitated before continuing to pull on his winter coat. “We’re heading out to the store, Ma. I was going to do some shopping.” 

“We are?” Chuck whispered under his breath, brows lifting to his hairline. Casey wants to go shopping on Christmas Eve? Grabbing the coat, he tried to remember if he actually saw Casey put the SIG back in the drawer. 

“I need to pick up a few things,” Casey clarified, a stealth look of warning over his shoulder to go along with it.

Before Mother could open her mouth, Maggie rounded the corner, holding her laptop under her arm. “Where are they going, Mom?”

“They say they’re going shopping.”

“Really?” Maggie turned to Casey and her eyes lit up. “Hold on. I’m coming with you. I need to go into town. Besides,” she said sounding worn out. “Research and wrapping? Eh. I need to get away from academia and scissors for a while and spend some time with my brother – who never comes home.”

Chuck glanced sidelong at his handler to catch his reaction. Watching Casey get steamrolled by the feminine side of the clan was a pastime worth the price of admittance. Indeed, the kid had to hide a smile when he saw Casey give them a half-exasperated, half-amused look while he rooted around for the car keys in his coat pocket. “Ma, we’re only going to –”

“Great idea, honey. And you know what?” Stepping between the boys, Mother took the sleeve of Chuck’s borrowed coat and gave it a little tug. “Chuck will stay here with me. I’ll put him to work in the kitchen – and we can get to know each other a little better.”

“Um, I should probably –”

“Nonsense. Go, Johnnie,” Mother replied, increasing the pressure on Chuck’s arm. “I want to find out more about the man that has my son so smitten.” 

Casey’s lips drew into a thin line at the insinuation anything could force the Major to be smitten like a kitten, but it was too damn late. Chuck’s coat was off, he was steered back into the kitchen while Casey was herded out the door by a red-headed cattle prod.

The squint of warning as the door closed told Chuck this dialogue would be discussed in detail upstairs later. Oh, freaking great. 

An apron was adjusted around him and the kid was shuffled off to a stool at the counter in front of a bag of potatoes before he could bat an eye. It took him a few tries to get the hang of the potato peeler, but after a minute he was peeling off long, loose strips. Totally lost in thought ….

“Did you hear me, honey?” Mother nudged him in the ribcage and handed off a large bowl for the peelings.

“Oh … what now?” Chuck looked up from his peeling duties, realizing his brain had been out to sea. “Sorry, I was a little preoccupied.” He mustered up a crooked grin. “You were asking?”

“Where did you go to school?”

Well, this was safe territory, wasn’t it? How could Casey get pissed about this? “I went to Stanford.”

Mother turned and examined him, and then picked up a jar from the counter. “Impressive. Johnnie found a smart one.” She flashed another smile, but it faded to seriousness after a few seconds of silence. “I think you’ve helped smooth out his … well, let’s just call it his rough edges. Maybe just a little bit, hmm? He seems … happy. Finally content with his life.”

Casey was content, smoothed out? Chuck felt another blush creeping up his neck. Scratch that. His handler might not like this conversation one bit. The happy part may need some editing later when he was forced to replay this.

“How old are you, did you say?”

Oh, crap. Here we go. “Twenty-eight.”

“Huh.” She was doing the quick math in her head and patted him on the arm. “Johnnie’s other friend was younger too. And tall.” Mother winked. “I like your sense of humor, though. How you two banter and have fun.”

“We … banter?” What? Really? Casey’s getting the abridged version of this whole damn thing.

“John would like that, though he probably doesn’t show it. Let me guess, he just gives you that look.” Mother Casey narrowed her eyes at him and stiffened her jaw. 

Chuck’s reaction was to stare at her, the eerily familiar expression pointed back at him, until he had to laugh. “Excellent imitation, though the sarcastic smirk would’ve given you bonus points.”

This time, she laughed. “I like you, Chuck,” Mother commented plainly.

Looking down, he swallowed hard and concentrated on the next potato. He should’ve been pleased that they liked him, but the deception made him feel … dirty. God, it sucked to lie to her.

“What about your sister?”

“Oh. She … Ellie went to school at UCLA to become a doctor. She works at a local hospital,” Chuck added, a wan smile crossing his face. “She stayed off campus so that she could take care of me … so I wouldn’t have to ….” He stopped to wet his lips. “Well, I was still in high school when my dad left.”

Mother Casey cleared her throat and handed him the jar. “Can you … open this?” 

“Sure.” Chuck popped the lid off and reached to put it back in her hand, a move that made him look at her. When he did, the kid wasn’t prepared for blue eyes a shade lighter than Casey’s surveying every smooth feature of his face. Not sure how to handle that, or even what was meant by her look, he avoided her eyes and focused on something else. A damn jar of dill pickles.

“Thank you,” she said, still standing close, not letting up on the hard look. 

“Is something … wrong?”

Mother didn’t move, holding the jar as if she had forgotten all about it. “You’re … serious,” she responded. “Your parents left you, your sister raised you, and you both went on ….” Trailing off uncomfortably, she busied herself by wiping a hand on her apron.

Chuck moved a shoulder. He had to accept the truth. There was a whole hell of a lot about his life that when repeated back, sounded rightfully pathetic. “Not the happiest story for Christmas Eve, is it?”

There was a resonating stillness in the old house, weighted but warm. She took her time setting down the jar. “You don’t get it, do you?” She began counting off on her fingers. “Let me get this straight: you stayed together and took care of each other. You both went to school and found your way in the world somehow.” 

“Yeah. So?”

“So?” 

Chuck wasn’t fast enough to avoid the good-natured cuff on the side of the head. “Hey,” he said with a laugh, waving his hand to fend her off. “Uncle! What was that for?”

“Knock some sense into you, that’s what.” Mother meant to give him the stink eye, but it was offset by a small smile on her lips. “You think it was dismal. And you feel guilty. You don’t see it for what it is.”

“What’s that?”

She looked him square in the eyes and ruffled his hair. It didn’t feel demeaning. It had been a lifetime since he felt the shelter of a mother’s touch. “Extraordinary,” she said simply. “That’s what.”

Chuck had no choice but to sit there holding a half-peeled potato, just gazing at her firm expression. 

Face it. The sticky thought of leaving here and never looking back was getting harder by the day.

24 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Kitchen  
03:54 pm CST 

Time could be measured in the number of fleshy potatoes now heaping over in a bowl, or the washed and trimmed green beans, and even the pie crusts, pleated into the pie plates. Mother Casey had kept him busy. She was a patient teacher when it came to baking, and could carry a conversation with idle chit-chat or delve into deep matters of the heart. Her family, her son, his life in Burbank.

Casey. He couldn’t be thinking like this. 

Two hours later, the sunlight was slanting in low through the kitchen window. Mother and Chuck stood at the sink, washing off smudges of flour when the back door swung open. They turned in time to see Casey and his sister brushing off the cold. 

“Hey.” Maggie looked at the pair curiously, and then the bowls, spoons, and ingredients lining the counters. Her eyes came back to linger on Chuck. “Jesus. I got out of here just in time,” she grinned. 

“And I see he survived shopping on Christmas Eve,” Mother said, getting a glimpse of the bags. 

“Heh.” Casey shook his head and scowled. “Easier being pinned down by Taliban than trying to maneuver through that. Any coffee left, Ma?” He glanced at the food preparation before halting in his tracks when he caught sight of his asset in apron. ‘I Spice it up in the Kitchen’ was emblazoned across his chest. “… the hell, Bartowski?” Casey mouthed.

“Uh … well,” he stammered, smoothing the front of the apron self-consciously, “Mother Casey was showing me how to make the perfect pie crust.”

“He’s a quick study,” she added. “Why didn’t you tell me he went to Stanford?”

Casey shrugged and set the bags on the floor. 

“Really.” Maggie cocked her head at him. “Wow, little brother. Didn’t you come out smelling like a rose when you found this one. Try not to screw it up,” she tacked on helpfully.

Casey frowned and opened his mouth with what was sure to be a witty comeback, but Mother cut him off with a hand in the air. “That’s it. Enough, kids. Take the bags upstairs. Don’t just leave them here.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Maggie turned to Casey, who was grabbing a coffee mug out of the cupboard. “Should we show him now?”

It didn’t take his near genius acumen for Chuck to discern that he was most definitely the him in this situation. Immediately, a ball of uneasiness swelled in his stomach. Only for the reason that whatever it was they had to show him, Casey was failing miserably at biting back a smart ass grin.

“Yeah,” the agent said, lifting the mug. The briefest flicker told Chuck he was enjoying this. “Let’s see it.”

Leaning over, Maggie dug through one of the bags until her fingers landed on something wrapped in white tissue. “Here it is. Now, I know it’s not exactly the same … but it’s close enough, and when I saw it in the window, I had to go in and get it.” She held it out with a flourish. “So, what do you think?”

Chuck blinked and set down an apple he had begun to chop for the pie filling. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly like a fish washed to shore, but the right words were nowhere to be found. 

It was certainly eye-catching. The red yarn was a perfect match to the mail order sweaters that adorned the Casey clan two nights ago. The only difference was that this version of holiday cheer had a leaping reindeer in white against the red, instead of the pronged snowflake. 

The dingle ball of red yarn at the end of the nose really set it off, too.

“I’m, uh, I don’t r-really know what to ….”

“Chuck means to say thank you,” Casey told them, artfully finishing the thought for him. 

When the kid could finally pull his eyes away from the sweater, the first thing he saw was a broad smirk, hiding behind a coffee mug.

“That’s evil,” Chuck mouthed when the women turned to admire the pies.

Casey lifted a large shoulder and took a long slurp, the shit eating grin staying right where it was.

24 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
05:14 pm CST 

“Don’t even think about it, Bartowski.”

“Gah!” Chuck whirled on Casey and tightened the towel around his waist. “Can you close the door? Half naked here, you know!”

“Because, I know what you’re thinking,” Casey went on, ignoring his modesty and sputtering. Closing the door, the agent crossed in front of him in that predatory stalking he had perfected. His thumbs were stuffed in his pockets, only making the muscles on his arms seem to stand out more than usual. “Isn’t that right, kid?”

“Um ….” Brain scrambling for an explanation, Chuck backed up a step and felt his fist cinching down on the knot. “I have no idea what you’re –”

“The sweater, that’s what.” Casey strolled to an even stop, toe-to-toe with the kid. “You’re wondering if you have to wear it to dinner. We all have to. So, hell, yes, you do,” he growled. “Put it on.”

“This is about what now?” Chuck almost tripped as he clambered back another step. 

“What else would I be talking about? Yes, the sweater. If I have to wear this, you’re wearing that.”

Note to self: later, when he was back in Burbank, laying in bed at night, Chuck would have a good laugh about this vision. But at the moment, he had bigger issues, like his scary as hell handler in a sea of red yarn and a giant white snowflake stretched over his chest. 

To saying nothing of the freaking large chip on his shoulder. Something had him on edge, digging under his skin like a dull blade to flesh.

Trying not to think about his bare chest so exposed, or the towel slung low on his hips, he rallied up a disarming smile. “You know, being your cover boyfriend is way more complicated than I had anticipated. First, there was round two of the Spanish Inquisition this afternoon, and now –”

“What?” His voice terse, Casey took another step towards the only thing that was keeping Chuck’s modesty intact. With this bit of news, the dreaded sweater curled up on the bed was momentarily forgotten. “Tell me what Mother said to you.”

“Well….” Chuck felt the dresser hit his ass cheek, warning him he had run out of room to escape this particular inquisition. “Okay, fine,” he said, letting out a resigned sigh. “She said … it’s nice to have someone around who – oh, God, you are going to hate this.”

“Newsflash, kid. I already do. Continue,” Casey ordered. 

“Someone who … uh … smoothes out your –”

“– rough edges?”

“– makes you seem –”

“So happy?” Casey finished, blue eyes swirling with suspicion. “Content with my life?”

“Y-yes.” Chuck cocked his head to the side. “Wait a minute here.” Fumbling with his fist on the knot, he almost dropped the towel when it hit him. “That’s exactly what she said. They both – today when you went with –”

“Fuck,” Casey spat under his breath. “We were just tag teamed by the mafia of the Midwest.”

“The mafia?” Dumbfounded, Chuck blinked at his handler. “Uh, that’s your sister you’re talking about.”

“Which is why I kept it toned down,” Casey replied.

24 December 2008  
Casey Homestead. Upstairs  
06:57 pm CST 

“More potatoes?” Mother tipped the edge of the bowl towards her son. “There are some left.”

Casey set down his fork and reached for the serving dish. “Not gonna get my hand slapped this time?”

When he reached, Chuck felt his shoulder brush against his cover boyfriend, now seated thigh to thigh with him at the small dining table. A cover touch. Because it was only a cover, and the man felt nothing, right? Not when he was pressed up to him at the club last night, letting their bodies settle into each other, or not when he had kissed him so completely up in the bedroom. 

Like an idiot, he had to repress a quiet tremble at the touch – what was wrong with him? There was a reckless side to his personality, odd moments when he jumped in deep, saw things that weren’t there. Like last night. The holding and touching. Steadying him, even as the touch climbed through him, rocking him off balance. 

He hid his look of disdain behind a mouthful of ham. Casey had made it abundantly clear there was nothing happening, no spark. Not now, not ever. 

“Everything’s great, Ma,” Casey told her as he scooped the potatoes on his plate. Status quo.

“You should be thanking Chuck.” She beamed a smile at him. “He’s a handy guy to have around.”

“He has his moments,” Casey replied without looking up.

“Why, thank you, sweetie,” the kid said dryly and after a hesitation, he nudged him on the bicep. It seemed to set off a flare; muscles along Casey’s arms went taut. Snapping his gaze to the side, Chuck figured the agent was uncertain how to react to cover flirting when it came from his asset. But a second later, Casey bumped his shoulder right back – forcing Chuck’s knife to slip out of his hand and clatter to the plate. Heads turned. 

“Oh! Sorry about that,” Chuck said, fumbling with the knife. “My bad.”

Watching the whole thing, Maggie lifted her wine glass to her lips; an unhealthy amount of amusement was in her eyes. “My little brother. Always the romantic.” She took a short sip while considering his usual stoic expression and turned to the kid. “I bet you have some good stories … I mean, I gotta love him –” 

Casey interrupted with a noise in his chest. 

“– but he’s not exactly the tender type,” Maggie went on, brushing off his ire. “No red roses and chocolate, am I right?”

“Well, I … uh.” Chuck braved a look to the side to see Casey glaring at his sister. On one hand, his handler could kick his ass into a snow bank and impale him with the fake icicles hanging off the tree if he dared to finish this sentence. 

On the other hand … to hell with John Casey.

“You could say that, yes.” Picking up his glass, Chuck plastered on a face of conspiratorial storytelling and took a thoughtful sip. Ignoring how his fingers had gotten rigid. How his chest felt bruised. “There was one time – oh, no. I shouldn’t, really.”

“He’s right,” Casey interjected. “Listen to the kid.”

“No, go on, go on.” Maggie pleaded with a nod. “I’m dying to hear this.”

Chuck started to inch his chair to the side to put some space between them – but a large hand on his thigh stopped him before he could scoot a millimeter away. Then, Casey squeezed in with his fingertips in a quiet but lethal threat. ‘Don’t you do it….’it clearly said.

The kid circled his wrist and put the meaty paw back on the leg of its rightful owner. He was even able to hide the wince.

Not ever, not now ….

Here goes.

“A few months ago,” he started, “I had been dropping heavy hints that I’d like to go up to Napa for a long weekend. Maybe do some wine tasting?” Hey, if he had to play the part of a cover boyfriend, and a software engineer for Lockheed to boot, he figured a little sophistication was in order. “I thought that maybe John had gotten the clue when he called me at work and told me to have my bags packed when I got home.”

Mother Casey jumped in to defend her boy. “That sounds like a nice surprise, though. What happened?”

Chuck didn’t dare slant a look to the side. He knew Casey’s neck would be tinged red, his jaw muscles dancing the tango. So, he kept talking. 

“We got in the car, but instead of heading north, we were on the freeway going south. I figured maybe he had found a nice place in San Diego.” Taking a scoop of green beans allowed for just the right pause for effect. “Well, wasn’t I in for a surprise.”

“Nothing like the one you’re in for when we get upstairs,” Casey breathed against his ear.

Chuck brushed him off. Admittedly, it was immature, but in a tiny way, it helped him exorcise his feelings. “It was San Diego, all right. Just not what I expected.”

Danny looked up from his plate. He had been trying to keep out of it, but the enticement was too great even for the bro code. “Let me guess. Chargers and the Patriots?”

“Oh, that would’ve been tolerable at least,” Chuck sniffed, taking a bite of ham. “Much worse.”

Next to him, Casey stiffened and the roving hand clenched down again.

“Ah …..” Chuck wriggled out of the hold and pushed at Casey’s knee. “Have you ever heard of the Gibraltar Conference Center?”

The blank stares would have to suffice for an answer. Chuck brought his napkin up from his lap and wiped his mouth, enjoying the buildup of anticipation. Forget that he was sweating just a teensy bit under the reindeer. Skinny nerds learned early in life that it wasn’t a good idea to piss off someone who had fifty pounds of hard muscle on you. 

But, screw him.

“Well?” Maggie asked. “Let’s hear it.”

Chuck shrugged. Wasn’t the story good for the cover, Casey? “Apparently, said conference center holds an annual gun and knife show. Seven hundred tables of collections, ammo, rifles, gun cabinets, jerky ….”

Maggie laughed around a mouthful of dinner roll. “Oh, hell,” she said. “Please. What else.”

“We had to get frisked at the door every time we left the venue.”

“I have a feeling,” Maggie let slip, even while having a hard time swallowing, “that was the most action you got that weekend, little brother.” 

“Margaret Ann, you’re making him blush. Let him finish.” 

“Hmm?” Chuck was still fighting the niggling of heat around his collar at the mention of action. “Uh, sharpening equipment, military surplus …. Oh, and a book signing.” 

“What? A book signing?”

“I know, right?” Chuck shook his head and stabbed at a bean. “One of the largest shows in the country, according to the pamphlets. We spent eight hours on Saturday and nine on Sunday schlepping among the booths and displays.” Chuck raised his cup in a mock toast. “Happy Birthday to me.”

“Dear God.” Mother rolled her eyes, and for Chuck’s sake, she pretended to her throw napkin at her son. “How could you, honey?”

Chuck turned to look him in the eyes, prepared to point a know-it-all look of satisfaction at his boyfriend. 

What he saw made him stop short. Casey’s broad back was straight, face hardened. And the agent, always a heartbeat from deadly intent, didn't break eye contact, looking as if he wanted to pull off the sweater and wad it between Chuck's teeth for such a bone-headed story. For a long moment, he just focused on Chuck's face ... but something shifted in his expression. Perhaps the need to establish distance between them. 

When Casey made a noise of exasperation and just shook his head minutely at the kid, he knew he had done something wrong.

Oh, no.

Why on earth had he done this – opened his big mouth. Casey was right. He was an idiot and a moron rolled into one. It was all a cover, for God sakes. Not real. Not Casey’s fault.

“You know,” and Chuck faltered over the sound of his voice, “I probably shouldn’t have … I didn’t mean to embarrass – this was my mistake.” Reaching for his water glass, he nearly tipped it over. “Ah. Crap.” When he gave a furtive glance towards Mother and sister, they wore matching looks of scrutiny aimed at him. “I mean, it was just –” An agent doing his job. Just for the cover. The kid set down his napkin and cleared his throat, his face turning pink. “You know, I should probably go up ….”

Mistake. My mistake. Not now, not ever – 

 

“Yeah … that was what happened.” 

It was unreal, like a Twilight Zone episode – only in Technicolor without the eerie face of the gremlin on the wing of the plane – when he heard it. Casey’s gravely tone was quieter than it had been all night, but somehow reverberated in every corner of the dining room. 

"It wa –?"

“What can I say?” Casey said. “I needed a new laser sight.” 

With the words, something touched his knee, brushing over his jeans until he felt bare skin to his hand. Strong fingers wrapped around his, curling his hand in a resolute ball.

Squeezing. Shut up, Chuck figured he was saying, before he ruined everything.

“My little brother. The romantic.”

“Besides,” Casey’s grip tightened under the table, “I had to do it. Kid’s a damn snoop. Only way I could keep the real birthday present a surprise.” 

Chuck was still staring at him. After a few seconds, he remembered to close his mouth. “My present?” the kid managed to stumble out. “Oh … I … well, why don’t you … tell this … part?”

What the hell? Casey didn’t kill him or make an excuse to haul him upstairs by the neck? But inexplicably, he was still holding tight to his hand. 

Casey leaned back in the chair, settling his shoulders and took a long pull off his scotch. When he put the glass down, he rubbed a hand up the back of his head. And Chuck would’ve coughed up his vintage Thor comic book collection to know what was going through it. 

“Okay,” Casey said. “I’ll tell it.”

Chuck set down his fork and swiveled in his seat, burning up with curiosity. This he had to hear.

“I knew Chuck would be expecting something on the weekend of his birthday,” Casey began, while he swirled the tawny liquor, an idle manipulation to make them wonder. “So, I threw a decoy out there.”

“The gun show?” Maggie sat up and pushed her green beans off to the side to make room for a dollop of the potatoes. “You made him think that was his birthday present?”

“That’s right.” Casey angled a look to the side at his boyfriend. “And Chuck fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker. Rookie,” he muttered.

“You can finish patting yourself on the back later, John. Let’s hear this plan of yours.”

His sentiments exactly. Where was Casey going with this? And why was he still holding his hand?

“The next Friday, I met Chuck in the parking lot at work. Took him totally by storm.”

“Uh, that’s … true.” Chuck skimmed the looks around the table, deciding he could help out. “Next to my car … leaving work that night. The grab from behind was a little disconcerting, but you know John.” The kid tipped his head to the side. “He likes to keep me on high alert.”

“Nearly pissed himself,” Casey concurred with a sly chuckle, sharing a secret look with him, maybe pleased he didn’t drop the ball. “Luckily, I had a weekend’s worth of clothes already packed.”

“That’s not a date. That’s a hijacking!” Maggie scolded, pointing her fork at him.

“What can I say? I’ve got my own style.” Casey rested his other hand on Chuck’s forearm, brushed back and forth a few times without looking at him. “Worked, too.”

Chuck tried not to notice the warm hands encircling his, told himself Casey was fixing the mess he had made. He couldn’t get lost in this. But damn, he was.

“Hold on.” Maggie waved a hand in his direction. “That’s way too far of a drive to do on a weekend.”

“Who said anything about driving?” Casey forked his spuds and took a bite, chewing slowly, then washed it down while they waited. “I’m a pilot,” he said, his voice low. “I pulled a few strings. We flew there.”

“Oh. Not bad.” His sister fiddled with the stem of her glass as she thought about it. “Not bad at all.”

So far, his cover boyfriend was redeeming himself, Chuck thought. He wanted to know how this was going to end as badly as they did. 

More than that. The kid wanted to imprint this moment in his mind, the way his eyes seemed a brighter shade of blue, not quite as if he had dropped the shield, but almost. The way he kept talking, well, Chuck could almost visualize it being real, picturing the color of the sky that night. And crazily, the story was beginning to make his pulse hammer, triggering an odd sensation in his lower belly. 

But it was only a story. He could only listen.

“Well, the next day we had only made it to a couple vineyards before it rained like hell.” Casey frowned and took a drink of his scotch. “A total wash-out.”

“After you had planned the whole thing?” Mother Casey gave a sad smile. “What did you do?”

Casey didn’t look at any of them. He was staring blankly at the glass in his hands, each sharp angle of his face revealed in the golden glow of the table’s dim candlelight. “By the time we got back to the bed and breakfast, well, you were drenched, soaked to the skin.”

He was talking to Chuck. About a time and place a million miles away from here when he was a naive kid left on the streets of the city one night. It was then that Chuck could only nod dumbly at him and reach for his water glass. His throat had dried up.

“What did you do?” Maggie wondered. 

“Well … after we changed into some dry clothes, I started a fire in the fireplace. Wrestled up a few glasses from the kitchen and opened a bottle.” The agent’s sharp blue eyes centered on Chuck’s face. “The shiraz. The farm with the black dogs?” 

Chuck felt an electric knot of tension in his belly. He blinked at him, realizing he had been holding his glass in an impossibly tight grip, he had been watching Casey’s face far too closely. “What? Sh-shiraz … I think so.”

“Mom, do I have to eat this?” Andrew pointed a fork at the green beans his mother had put there, peering up at her through his wire frame glasses. “They’re green.”

“Shh, don’t interrupt your Uncle John.” Eyes darting down, Maggie brushed a lock of blonde hair to his temple. “Yes, just eat it,” she told him gently and refocused on her little brother. “Well, rain and Shiraz. Did it ever let up?”

“Heh. Thunder and lightning like son of a … gun by the time we were warmed up. So, we wandered out of the room to check out the house.” Casey brought up his drink again. As the storytelling drifted on, his voice became low, velvet. “The innkeeper was roasting chicken for dinner. It was still early, though. But … we found the library with a stockpile of books and movies. We dug through them.”

“Movies on a rainy afternoon and a fire?” A smile grew on Maggie’s face. “Sounds … nice, actually.”

Trying to keep the puzzled look out of his eyes, Chuck had to agree with that assessment. Damn, it did. 

“We decided that we had time to watch two movies before dinner.” Casey shifted in his seat, and when he did, his knuckles grazed Chuck’s, sending another shot of warmth through him. But his dark eyes stayed fastened to Casey’s face. “Chuck had an idea, didn’t you?”

Chuck nodded and felt his brow wrinkling. Inwardly, he couldn’t wait to hear that, either.

Knowing he wouldn’t get an answer, Casey didn’t stop for one. “He suggested that each of us pick our favorite from the stacks and we’d go back and watch them,” Casey said. “You can learn a lot about a person from their movie selection, eh?”

Maggie traced her fingers along the rim of the glass. “Okay, I can see you are enjoying this way too much. Why don’t you tell us which two movies you saw?”

Casey swirled his drink again, ice cubes tinkling against the glass. “One movie,” he corrected, in a deep burr.

“One?” Mother Casey gave him a quizzical look. “But you just said … I don’t get it.” 

Neither did he. Chuck was totally lost in the woods by this time, but at the risk of blowing the cover, he schooled his features. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was warmed by a fire and a man he never thought could bring warmth, sucked in by a day that only existed as a rough sketch in his mind. He could sit here and listen to his voice tell it one more time.

But that same damn dull flush was coming back to his cheeks. Grabbing his water glass, he sipped and cleared his throat. 

Setting down his glass, Casey eyes cut over the table at the inquisitive looks. “It seems we had picked the same movie. Hard to believe she had doubles of some of them.” He bit down on his mouth for a second, and then turned to look at his cover boyfriend with a thorough gaze, one that made Chuck feel a twist inside of him. “Harder to believe that we found them.”

Maggie tilted her head and pushed her plate to the side. “I stand corrected, baby brother. Maybe there is hope for you yet,” she murmured, taking a sip of her wine. “What movie was it anyway?”

Chuck figured he was the only one at the table that caught the momentary flicker of uncertainty. Casey didn’t look like he knew the answer to that one, but why would he?

“Do you remember, kid?”

Nice pass. Didn’t he always say play to your strengths? Maybe they were a good team. 

Chuck leaned in his seat and gave Casey a small crooked grin. “It was … Die Hard. The first one, of course,” he clarified in case that wasn’t obvious. 

Andrew took a time-out from hiding beans under his ham to roll his eyes at his mother. “Sounds stupid to me,” he announced in the way only a pre-teen can pull off. “Now you only had one movie to watch. What did you do until dinner time?”

“Heh.” Casey sat up higher and smirked into his scotch, letting that one go. 

“Oh, we … um.” Chuck felt the need to cough into his hand and dodge his eyes away. It didn’t stop the redness lapping over his cheeks. “Played gin rummy.” 

“Uh, honey.” Frowning, Maggie looked between both of them and prodded her son from his seat. “Forget the beans. Maybe there’s a cartoon on. Why don’t you run along?”

Casey grunted in agreement and cracked a smile for his nephew. “She never ate them, either, Andrew. Don’t let her fool you.”

Maggie laughed and threw a piece of a dinner roll at him. “Thanks, Uncle Johnnie. They forget nothing. Don’t you know that?”

“Any one ready for dessert?” Danny asked. “Did I see pie in there?”

Simple as pie. Like the air wasn’t charged with energy, like a spark wouldn’t ignite it. Chuck couldn’t catch a decent breath. Couldn’t breathe. He was still lost in thought, sitting in front of a fire watching movies on a soggy day. 

When Mother climbed out of her seat to fetch the pies and plates, Chuck leaned over in his chair. “I’m sorry for my story,” he breathed against Casey’s hair, “… and I know it’s not real … or anything like that … but thank you.” Under the table, he slipped his other hand off his knee to touch his, to tell him the same. 

Until his hand got there, that is. Something was lost in translation. Instead of tapping his leg, Chuck’s palm rested on his thigh, fingers curled, rubbing in a tiny track down the seam of his jeans. Not for the cover.

Casey shifted in his seat, turned to him, putting their noses mere inches apart. Only what he was looking at was a mystery. Indecipherable and still. When a slice of warm pie landed in front of him, the agent turned a studious focus to it, saying nothing.

But if Casey had noticed his hand stayed there, he didn’t let on. And for now, Chuck was holding on tight.

-x-End Meet the Kin-Chapter Seven-x-


	8. Chapter Eight

I've never opened up to anyone  
So hard to hold back when I'm holding you in my arms  
We don't need to rush this  
Let's just take it slow

Just a kiss on your lips in the moonlight  
Just a touch of the fire burning so bright  
No I don't want to mess this thing up  
I don't want to push too far  
Just a shot in the dark that you just might  
Be the one I've been waiting for my whole life  
So baby I'm alright, with just a kiss goodnight  
\- Lady Antebellum, 2011

 

25 December 2008  
Casey Homestead  
06:25 am CST

“Get up, Bartowski.”

“Mmph.” A gangly arm emerged to pull the pillow over his head. “G’way.” 

Chuck snuggled under the body-warmed blankets. Since Casey could put a blast furnace to shame, his heat lingered in the tousled cotton, subconsciously giving Chuck the urge to sink deep and let it envelope him. Sleep had been a toasty blur of blankets and long arms and legs, but he’d surfaced several times during the night, once with his head pressed to Casey’s chest, a leg twined over one of his thighs. An arm securely draped around the bare skin of his waist. And though his cover boyfriend would never own up to it, he had felt Casey’s arm resting across him, holding Chuck, as if he intuitively wanted to just keep sleeping surrounded by him. 

Yeah. Right.

The lightening quick change had hit after dinner. The 'hand-holding dinner', Chuck corrected to himself. When the Caseys had gathered in the living room, Mister Aloof and All Hard Ass Professional was back on the job. Hell, Casey wouldn’t even make eye contact with him, the kid saw, getting a little perturbed by the cold shoulder. 

Well, he could take a hint. Besides, Casey deserved some private time with his family without his asset hanging on him, so Chuck smiled for the cover, squeezed Casey’s arm, and begged off a last drink in front of the fire. It was easy enough to tell them he was still wrung out from the night on the town – after all, flirting with maniacal criminals did take a lot out of a nerd. 

He didn’t mind going up stairs alone. In truth, it put some distance between them. Time to breathe. To think.

That was last night. And right now, even staring at the back of his eyelids, Chuck could feel Casey looming over him with that ramrod stiff posture of his, expecting him pop out of bed and assume his part.

Mumbling, Chuck ducked his head under the blanket.

But his cover boyfriend wasn’t taking any guff for Christmas morning, because the next sound was distinct heavy footfalls approaching the bed. “Nuh-uh, Bartowski. Don’t even think about it.”

“What is wrong with you people?” Lifting his head, Chuck pulled back the blanket just a few inches and opened his eyes to bleary slits. 

Yep, just as he suspected, Casey was poised like a damn drill sergeant, wearing a long sleeve t-shirt and crisp cotton sleep pants. “What’re doing?”

“Bartowski.” 

“Hmm?” Chuck tried to focus through the slits. Lucky him. Casey had obviously been up long enough to slip on some comfortable clothes, since there was no way he was wearing anything but boxers when they were tangled up together in bed.

Clearly, it was the first time in his life he had awoken with soft chest hair tickling his cheek, for God sakes, and that he would remember. Chuck took a deep breath and started to close his eyes.

“Get some pants on.”

“Pants?” he replied, sounding scratchy. “And more importantly, what time is it?” 

Casey stared down at the kid with his arms crossed. “The Caseys always start ripping by 6:30. Get up.”

That got an actual baffled look from the kid. “God, I hope you’re talking about wrapping paper,” he deadpanned, his voice muffled by the pillow. Without waiting for an answer, Chuck burrowed his head further down in the featherbed. “Now let me sleep another hour.”

Casey made a throaty noise of disagreement. Apparently, the extra hour was not up for negotiation on his end. “Need your lanky ass out of bed. Mother expects to see my boyfriend under the tree this morning. Pronto.”

With a groan, large dark eyes slowly drifted open to peek up at him. The bedroom was bathed in shadows – at least he had the decency to keep the lamp off – and light from the hallway splashed the side of Casey’s face, emphasizing the slope of his cheek bones, a firm curve of his mouth. He filled the doorway with his sheer presence, and face it, Chuck told himself: that was one childhood name that should’ve stuck, because the light along his body only called attention to the fact that he was built like a tank. To say nothing of his expression. No one could pull off the attitude of impatience and obstinance like John Casey. 

“Christmas morning with my boyfriend and his family. This cover takes complicated to new levels of craziness,” Chuck grumbled. “You know that, right?”

“Better get a move on kid.” The slight edge in his tone became wry. “Ma’s gonna think I’m up here giving you something all the naughty boys are getting right about now.”

“What?” Chuck’s head popped off the pillow. “They would think that? It’s Christmas!”

Casey shrugged and grabbed a corner of the blanket. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, God.” Chuck grimaced, rubbing watery eyes. “Your family’s nuts, by the way.”

“Point, Bartowski. And duly ignored. Five minutes or I get you up. My way is yanking on one of those chicken ankles until your ass is out of bed. Your choice.” Casey nodded once toward the foot of the bed and the door slid closed with a thump.

It took a moment for him to battle it out with himself. Simmering warm, in a bed that had the scent of Casey’s musk. Vanilla shampoo and cocoa butter soap. Masculinity. He could almost taste it under his tongue. Another sniff and a hard shiver went through him, a spider web of heat crawling through his lower belly. 

Oh, no. Get out of bed. “This isn’t happening. It’s a cover,” Chuck told himself. “Back to normal when we get home …. Just a cover.” 

Normal? This was insane. Chuck scrubbed his hands over his face, frowned. It would never be normal. Rising, he slid on a pair of sweatpants, tried to flatten his tufted, unruly waves, and padded down the hallway.

25 December 2008  
Casey Homestead  
06:34 am CST

“It’s about time,” Mother called out with a smile. She was standing next to one of the worn but comfortable chairs in her living room, watching them come down the stairs. “You look worn out. Did you get enough sleep, Chuck?”

At the words ‘worn out’, Chuck peeked past Casey’s shoulder to see Maggie’s brows nearly hit her hairline. 

“I was just, uh … I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, which only made her give a pointed look at her brother. What was that all –? Oh, God. Chuck wanted the floor to open up and suck him into a vortex, anything to hide his face and the flush he felt creeping up his neck. 

Hiding a presuming look behind his coffee mug, Casey leaned in against Chuck’s hair, feigning innocence. “See? You were getting the naughty boy treatment.”

“I can walk to the airport from here,” Chuck whispered right back, forcing a pained smile at Mother. “Just sayin’.”

“Nice blush too, by the way,” Casey replied, barely audible.

Wait a damn minute. Was John Casey, the NSA’s biggest bad ass guard dog, flirting with him? No. Chuck had to blink twice before his logical side beamed in from space. Major Casey does not flirt with his asset. 

“Sit.” Steering him by the elbow, Casey sat down on the sofa and tapped the seat next to him. A pair of legs that stretched out for a mile made a formidable roadblock, another way to get the kid to stop right there and take a seat. Glancing down, he saw Casey getting settled, his wide back and shoulders sinking into the cushion while he balanced a hot cup of coffee on his knee. 

Tap. Tap. 

In case he didn’t get the message the first time.

Looks like there would be some cover snuggling this morning. Chuck told the nagging voice in his head it only appeared comfortable next to him because the crackling blaze in the fireplace was still taking hold, and heat would be rolling off of Casey’s body. 

He made himself say it in his head. ‘Just his assignment’. 

Well, hey, he could do this. After just a second of hesitation, he scooted up to the sofa and sat, leaning back on Casey’s shoulder. As any respectable and well-mannered boyfriend would do, Casey draped a muscled arm around the back of the cushion, fingers lightly resting on the crook of Chuck’s neck. Touching was getting easy, and it wasn’t unpleasant. Not at all.

‘Just the cover,’ resounded between his ears.

“That’s yours.” Casey nodded at the other coffee cup on the table. 

“Thanks … sweetie.” Picking it up, Chuck rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and prepared to observe the Casey family in their natural Christmas morning habitat. You could learn a lot about a family right about now, he thought.

Casey’s assessment had been unswervingly accurate, of course. Unlike the Bartowskis, who took the leisurely method to heart – at Ellie’s insistence – drawing it out all morning, the Casey clan was a family of rippers. Wrapping paper, bows, and boxes were unexcavated from under the twinkling tree in a heartbeat. It was boisterous, noisy, and they seemed to have fun. Maybe they were on to something.

Next to him, Chuck’s cover boyfriend just watched though, quirking a small smile when Andrew unwrapped his ‘big’ gift, one that excited his dad as much, if not more, than him. 

“Found it on eBay,” Maggie told them. “I hope it’s like the one you remember.” 

“Good Lord, woman. You outdid yourself this year.” Danny eyed it appreciatively and then whistled between his teeth. “Original box, too.”

“A train?” Chuck asked.

“Hah. Not just a train. A die cast post-war Lionel train set.”

“You’ll have to save up for a few more train cars.” Tilting forward, Maggie touched Andrew’s shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“It’s … old,” Andrew assessed. “But, yeah. Can we set it up?”

His grandmother peered at him over her coffee and laughed. “Here. Open this before you head down to the basement – which I know you’re dying to do.” Danny grabbed the box, forgetting it was for his son, and handed it over guiltily. Shedding the paper revealed a yellow tinplate caboose and shiny black coal car.

“Where did you get these?” Andrew wondered.

“Not polite to ask, Andy,” Mother replied, but she had to smile. “The caboose is from your Uncle John. I found it in a box of his things in the basement. He said you could have it.”

Chuck turned to look at his handler, studying his sharp profile. More Intel he’d need to forget in two days: Casey sang in the choir, collected trains, and later played on the front line of his high school football team. When did the story veer in its path, and life cast him as Major John Casey, cold blooded assassin and all around ass kicker? 

In the dim light, twinkling bulbs and the fire, he appeared to be the same man. 

Chuck swallowed, looked away. Stop. He had to let go of this.

“Go, go if you’d like.” Mother Casey waved at Danny and Andrew, who didn’t need further persuasion. They disappeared to the basement with the boxed train under Danny’s arm. 

“I love my gifts, Johnnie.” Casey’s mom glanced down at the sheepskin lined boots, a deep blue sweater, and a certificate for an oil change. “Always practical,” she murmured, and walking to the sofa, she bent down to place a kiss on his cheek. “I wanted to wait for the furor to subside before I gave you your present, honey.”

“I told you not to get me anything,” Casey replied, watching her move to Maggie’s side to give her a kiss as well. 

“Not get my son a present? Humph.” Going to the closet, she tugged out a wooden box and set it on the coffee table. “Why don’t you wait and see what it is first before you tell me you don’t want it.”

The box was about a foot square with rusty hinges and just a few painted letters on the side that hadn’t chipped off years ago. Bracing his forearms on his knees, Chuck sat up to get a better look at it, fighting back a jumble of curiosity.

“You’ve spent years moving from place to place, and I never know where you’re going to be when I hear your voice.” Mother went back to her chair and picked up her coffee, eyeing her son thoughtfully. “I never wanted to give you these old things, because you never had a place for them, it seemed,” she explained. “But now, it looks like you’ve finally taken root somewhere,” and her eyes skimmed to Chuck, “so, I think it’s time you finally take this home with you.”

A muscle flexed in Casey’s jaw. He had gone very still. Still enough that Chuck could feel the tautness in the arm resting over his shoulders. “Ma, I’m not sure if this –”

“Stop arguing. Open it.”

Casey moved with reluctant motions, as if sensing a shadow from the past was on the brink of engulfing him. When the hinged lid was raised, Chuck bent forward and peeked inside. 

“Dad’s Colt Agent.” Casey’s voice sounded distant, rough. “His commendations.” Cautiously rifling through the box, he held up a badge. It was worn, tarnished silver, but the kid could make out the words ‘Sergeant, Elk Grove’, and the number 714. Setting it down on the table, Casey inspected the handgun before wrapping his large fist around the butt of it. “Tell me you checked to make sure it’s not loaded,” he said.

“What? No faith in your mother. Of course it’s not loaded. Besides, it’s been locked up in the safe all these years. I had to clean it, though.”

“God, Mother.” Casey’s gaze swept over the gun, running the pad of his thumb over the notched cylinder. The Colt Agent had a carved wooden handle, straight lines, nothing fancy, and a small drum under the muzzle to load individual shells. It reminded Chuck of a handgun from old detective movies he and Morgan used would watch.

“Casey, so … all of this was that your dad’s?”

Casey gave another one of those tight smiles without looking at them, but he let out a breath, and his hands loosened around the gun. Gently, like it carried great weight, he put it back in the wooden crate. “I’ll look at all of this later, Mom, when I have time to go through everything,” he insisted. “Let Chuck open his things.” Chuck was more than happy just to watch Casey’s face while he discovered the private contents of the box, but his cover boyfriend reclined back and brought his arm up to rest across Chuck’s shoulders again. “Your turn to rip.”

“Funny, really. But presents?” Chuck asked, glancing down at his feet. There were three boxes wrapped in red paper with gold ribbon on the floor next to him. 

“Go on, open them,” Mother said.

What could be more embarrassing than this? “I … I didn’t get the two of you – well, the truth is I didn’t know until the last minute that we were coming here. It was one of those things that John sprung on me. Like Napa.”

“Oh?" Maggie crinkled her nose at her brother, snickering. “Snatch him out of the parking lot again? Maybe a take-down with a bag over the head while he was leaving the drug store?” 

Casey lifted his coffee and took a sip, playing it up by arching a brow and brushing his thumb lazily on the side of Chuck’s neck. “Good thing he fights like a girl or I never woulda got him here.”

“Hah. That’s a joke by the way,” Chuck contended. “Just in case you didn’t catch the underlying note of humor. It wasn’t quite that bad. This time, anyway.”

“Well, don’t be ridiculous about the gifts.” Mother Casey glimpsed at her son and busied herself by adjusting her fuzzy robe. “You being here is our present. Now, stop talking and start ripping.”

“Okay … then.” Chuck couldn’t help but smile at her stubborn yet strikingly familiar expression. “I guess that settles it.” Giving Casey a puzzled look, he picked up the two smaller boxes and shook them, grinning but perplexed. “Just what I wanted. A box of air.” 

“Yeah. You were a bad boy after all, Bartowski,” Casey breathed against his dark waves. 

Chuck just gave him a wide-eyed look and tried not to appear wary as he tore off the wrapping paper. But surprisingly, the miniature packages held two gift cards – iTunes and Microsoft points for Xbox 360. Either his cover boyfriend was paying attention, or he was a hell of a good guesser. 

“Johnnie said you would like them. Is that okay?” 

Well, John Casey was paying attention. “They’re … perfect. Thank you,” Chuck said to both of them.

“Didn’t mean to out you as a nerd,” Casey said, gracing him with a dry chuckle. “Open the last one.”

“Who is that from?”

Maggie looked up from adding another log to the fire. “Does he really think you didn’t get him something?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you open it, Chuck, and find out.” He nudged it with his toe until it bumped up against the kid’s foot. “Take it.”

“Oh. You got me a …?” When Casey leaned into him, Chuck was hit by the comfortable swelter of Casey’s hips and chest pressed along one side of him. He started to turn red again and ducked his head down to grab the gift. Not real. It was just a spy acting out his part: benevolent boyfriend watching his lover open a present. “All right. Let’s see ….” Slipping off the ribbon, he slowly opened the box, knowing all the eyes were on him. “It’s … ah ….” Not making sense. Chuck wet his throat and held it out in front of him. “P-perfect. I really wasn’t …. Thank you.”

Chuck’s fingers moved over the outside, touching the smooth fabric under his palm. The field coat was similar to the well-worn one he had been borrowing, though the soft outer canvas was deep chocolate instead of tan. The lining was thick brushed flannel, and he noticed a pair of wool gloves were tucked in one of the pockets. 

“Been doing nothing but bitching about the cold since he got here,” Casey said to his mother. Turning to Chuck, he used the hand draped behind him to lightly ruffle the hair at the back of his collar. “Maybe now you’ll be warm, eh?”

Chuck took a deep breath, not knowing how he would reply. Well, the Major, being a problem-solver guy took care of that dilemma by curling his hand and tightening the hold on the back of his neck. Long fingers entwined in his hair, steering the kid’s face around. Casey brought up his other hand, resting the thumb at the corner of Chuck’s lips, and wasted no time pressing his mouth over his. Brown eyes drifted shut on instinct. Like the dummy that he was, he let himself get drawn into this, letting the fake kiss sweep him along. Going weak. He kissed him back, feeling the restrained tension of warm lips on his, hard enough to make him ache in a good, stupid way. He groaned … for the cover. 

“Easy, sport,” Casey growled low against his mouth. “Ma’s watching, you know.”

“Uh … we hope you can use it next year, Chuck,” Mother Casey cut in, giving her son a raised brow. 

Chuck was still blinking, his cheek nearly touching Casey’s jaw, his stomach in a silent whorl of confusion. Clenching his fists, he sucked in a quiet breath. Damn if the bastard didn’t just go back to sipping his coffee. 

“Next year?” he echoed, catching up with the conversation. Again, the deceitfulness sliced like a dull blade. Little did they know, two more days, not next year. “We … haven’t really talked about it.” 

Across his shoulders, he felt the muscles of Casey’s arm stiffen again. “Kid’s right, Ma. It’s hard to say where we’ll be.”

While Maggie dodged her eyes to the side to gauge her mother’s reaction, Casey’s mom mustered up a brave smile. “I know, I get it. You’re a soldier. You go where and when they tell you to go. But it’s a mother’s prerogative to remind you to come home. No matter where else you make your home,” she added with a fleeting look at the young man next to her son. 

Suddenly, there was the feel of Casey’s hand curving around the back of his neck, all strength and drawn taut. Fingers brushed lightly before clamping down; not a gentle contact, but not to hurt. The only outward reaction of his mother's words.

An idea formed. Perhaps it was Casey who needed rescuing this time. Chuck sat up and gave them his best high wattage grin, a little strained. “Wait here. I have something for you,” he said, turning to Casey, and tentatively, the kid squeezed his thigh – isn’t that what a boyfriend would’ve done when Casey gave him such a puzzled look? “I’ll be right back.” Chuck nodded and headed up the stairs.

Where was it? Fumbling with the zippers, Chuck reminded himself which pocket of his duffle he had hurriedly stuffed it in the night before they left. Fishing it out, he took one last look at the crumpled bag and padded back down the hallway and stairs.

“I hope it’s … okay.” Chuck looked down at Casey and held out the bag. Almost masking his bewildered expression, he reached out and accepted it while the kid took his seat on the sofa again. “Sorry for the wrapping job. It’s a little, uh … well … let’s just say Ellie is the wrapper in the family. And I was in a hurry.”

But Casey wasn’t focused on the bag. He was studying him with narrowed eyes. “What is it?” 

Not exactly an appropriate look for a cover boyfriend to level at his gift horse, but Chuck forced a grin and tapped his knuckles. “Open it.”

After consideration, Casey untied the thin green ribbon that encircled the top of the bag. It was the only thing Chuck was able to get his hands on quickly that night, something to dress up the plain brown wrapper that looked like a lunch sack. In fact, he thought, giving it a once over – it was a lunch sack.

Straightening the rumpled opening, Casey reached into the simple bag without a word, felt around for a second, and pulled out the gift. He fingered it in his hand, turning it over to take it in from every angle.

The mechanical watch had a black leather strap, tattered, showing some scuffs. A silver face was square, inset with visible gears and balance wheels, keeping it moving at a constant rate. A watch an analytical scientist or an engineer would choose for himself. 

After a long pause, Casey looked up quizzically.

“It was my dad’s,” Chuck blurted, almost an apology, watching Casey trace his thumb lightly over the bezel. “I didn’t … ah, well, you see, when I found out we would be leaving the next morning, I had no time to pick out a gift … so, uh, this was in a cardboard box that Ellie kept … stuff from my mom and my dad … and I didn’t think you’d mind it getting something that was –”

“Chuck,” Casey rumbled, not tearing his gaze away to look up at him. Something shifted in the usual stony expression, and the agent passed his hand over the back of Chuck’s neck. “Please … shut the hell up.”

“Honey? Is that a nice way to talk to –”

“No, no, no, that’s all right. Really,” Chuck broke in. At first he wasn’t sure of himself, but giving his handler a steady long look, he coasted his hand over Casey’s thigh and jostled it lightly. “I’m pretty sure,” the kid said, wearing a small smile, “John means that in a good way.”

-x-  
25 December 2008  
Casey Homestead  
02:18 PM CST

John Casey was AWOL. It happened sometime between Maggie’s potato basil frittata and a basement gathering to demonstrate the Lionel train set. Luckily for the kid, it didn’t take a super secret agent to find him, either. Even a tall nerd with a slight case of allergies managed on his own this time, thank you very much.  
Slipping on his new softly-lined field coat, Chuck followed the reek of burning cordite. Of course, the erratic pop of gunfire served as a fair hint as well. 

Just great, he thought, staring at the slatted door. Casey was out in the old garage, and apparently, his cover boyfriend was working off some pent up frustration and dark urges with a little firepower. 

Shit.

Chuck wavered a bit in the foot high snow, and even though he knew it wasn’t safe in the house without Casey, being out in the barn when the agent was in ‘locked and loaded’ mode was also tenuous. 

Ditching them after breakfast, he had shrugged on his coat and picked up the wooden crate, telling his mother that he needed to change Belle’s oil and air filters. Mother Casey gave him a knowing look as she cleared away the breakfast dishes, telling him to come back in by supper. 

And just like that, without even looking at the kid, he left.

Who changes oil filters on Christmas? Chuck had given him a sour look just as the back door closed on his face, and he turned in time to see Mother and daughter exchanging a glance between them. Nice, really nice. God knows what they’re thinking. Attempting to downplay his cover boyfriend’s dismissive behavior, Chuck fumbled through an excuse and started to rinse the plates. Maggie shooed him away, telling him they would take care of the dishes. He was sure they needed to talk. 

What the hell, Casey. With nothing better to do than stare into his half-empty cup of coffee, Chuck stretched out on the couch, watching TV for awhile. If he cared to admit it to himself, the kid was slightly miffed at being abandoned after giving Casey a gift that he thought would please him. Something that revealed a sliver of his life, like gradually loosening the securely lidded box. Something that was very real.

Damn it. Whatever was going on out there in the garage, it was a screwed up mess. One he should stay the hell out of. But being a cover boyfriend meant sloshing through the snow – he tried to walk exactly in Casey’s boot prints to keep the mush off his shoes – and when he reached the wooden slat door, Chuck halted in his tracks and sighed. Then, he pushed the door open. 

When the kid let himself in, he kicked his shoes against the floor and stepped further inside, stopping at the tool bench. The garage was darker than he remembered. The single bare light bulb over the convertible cast only a dim glow, putting Casey in the shadows.

The agent was dressed in his Christmas finery, which in Casey’s terms translated to a pair of blue jeans and the ever present black polo shirt. The wooden box was open and sitting on the counter, and it was obvious which gift had drawn his attention. Chuck tried to look past the most intimidating thing in the garage and focus on the gun. 

Looking at ease, Casey stood in his typical martial stance, feet shoulder-width apart. One hand was fisting the Colt Agent, the other hand cupped under it, holding it steady. He had arranged a makeshift firing alley the length of the barn, wedged between the red classic car and the bench. A paper target was pinned to a bale of hay stacked against the far wall. 

And with the considerable racket the handgun made, how the heck Casey had heard the door squeaking softly on its hinges was a mystery.

“Get some protection, for fuck sakes,” he ordered, not averting his eyes from the target.

“Wh-what?” Chuck eyes widened. “Pro … tection?” Damn. He hated when his voice did that high octave thing.

“Earmuffs. The other end of dad’s workbench. Blast out your goddamn eardrums in here if you don’t have ‘em on.”

Casey’s arm relaxed, only the tiniest movement, waiting for the kid to find the earmuffs and slip them on his head. 

“I wondered what happened to you,” Chuck said, taking a second to adjust the muffs. When Casey didn’t answer, he moved his gaze to the corner stove. Heat radiated from the cast iron wood burner Casey had stoked. “Hey … nice fire.” Lame, but he had to say something to fill the void. Still nothing, so he tugged off his coat and hung it on a hook. “Everything okay, buddy?” 

Again, there was no answer. Oh, yeah. Unless gunshots counted. Because before Chuck could shirk back for the blast, Casey leveled his thick arms, muscles went rigid along his back – and he popped off two more shots. 

“O-kay, then,” Chuck said. “I’ll just go stand over here, I guess.” He rounded the agent, giving him a wide berth, and leaned against the car door. With his arms folded over his chest, he settled in to watch his handler make mash of the paper pinned onto the bale. Chuck was proud that he had gotten past flinching after the first couple of hits.

A few more clean shots and Casey angled his head at the kid. “All of this Christmas cheer made me want to shoot something.” He squinted down the barrel and pursed his lips. “This was dad’s Big Betty,” Casey disclosed, his voice sounding a little wistful. “Thought I’d take her out for a little test drive.” 

“Thirty feet?” Chuck glimpsed at Osama bin Laden’s cold countenance staring out from the target. “That’s not much of a challenge.” 

“I’m aiming for a tiny freckle under his left eye.”

“Oh.” Chuck narrowed his eyes at the face, noticing the square inch under the eye socket that had been riddled with bullet holes. “In that case … wow … sounds like a blast? Bet you can’t do it again.”

With no hesitation, Casey pulled the trigger and sent another bullet into the hole. Loose stalks of hay came out in a puff from the singular spot and drifted like feathers to the floor.

“I stand corrected,” Chuck replied, his voice cracking. “Continue.” He ignored the target for now, tilting his head and letting his eyes rove over Casey’s wide back, the curve of his chest, the dip and bunch of arm muscles when he adjusted his grip. Jesus. Why the hell was he in there watching A Christmas Story for the twentieth time, when the John Casey Gun Show was playing in the barn? Fully concentrating, he watched the agent reload, position his feet, and squeezed off two more shots. Whoa. “Anything you want to talk about?” Chuck asked.

Pop.

Pop. Pop.

“Or … not.” Fine. Propped against the car door, Chuck sized him up for a full minute. It had to be the crate. Casey would never own up to the emotional debris that had stormed out of the box and filled the room. So many pieces still missing that he would never lock in place. Be a stubborn ass, then. But Chuck stayed in Casey’s peripheral vision, tapping his fingers absently on the cool steel of the car door, searching his gestures and mannerisms for a clue. 

Not the way his chest expanded with air before a shot … or the long expanse of powerful legs, spread apart …. Oh, no, no, no, no.

“What is it?” Casey asked out of the blue without looking at him. “What’re you gawking at, kid?”

“Well, I was …. “ Swallowing hard, Chuck tried to wipe off the startled expression while the agent methodically reloaded the chamber. “I was wondering if you would like –”

“Bartowski.” Casey finally turned to stare at him, giving him a take-no-shit look in return. “Why don’t you go back inside?”

“With your sister and your mom?”

Casey lifted a shoulder and faced the target. “Tell them I’ll be in later.” Pop … Pop

Frowning at the unbending profile for a minute, Chuck toed at a piece of slush that had fallen off his heel. “I’m staying,” he told him. “Besides, I like this car. It’s big and intimidating to look at. But kind of comfortable when you actually … get inside.”

Casey drew in a breath, nostrils flaring. Pop Pop. Pop. Bin Laden’s eyeball was toast. “Oh yeah?”

“Uh, y-yeah.” Chuck stuck his hands in his pockets. “Sorry if you didn’t like the watch.” It came out in a rush.

That was all it took to get Casey’s attention. Squinting at him with the same fierceness he had eyed the target, he lowered the gun to mid-body and pivoted on his feet. Deliberately, he strolled over to stand in front of Chuck. “Good job,” he snorted. “That was a nice touch. Here you go.” Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, he fished out the watch and held it out for the kid.

Chuck didn’t move. “A nice what?”

“Take off the earmuffs.” Casey reached up and pulled them off his head before Chuck lifted his hands. “I said nice touch. I think they fell for it.”

“Fell for …?” Chuck levered himself off the car and stood up straight. “Are you kidding me? That was a gift for you.” He huffed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know I had to speed up my usual shopping schedule thanks to our friends at the DNI.” Dammit, his voice sounded bitter. “I wanted to find a small way to show my appreciation for saving me on a regular basis. From Fulcrum, or nutcases who want to get their claws into the Intersect …. Not to mention the ones that wanted to throw me in a bunker for the holiday. Stupid of me, huh, considering that it’s just your job. The job where you’re stuck with me instead of with your family.” Chuck’s frown deepened and he held up his palm, pushing the watch back into Casey’s hand. “But this is my life. Not just a job. I wanted you to have it.” 

Casey’s solidly packed frame tightened like wire. He crowded in until Chuck’s vision was dominated by blue eyes and a straight jaw. “It’s real. I can’t take this.”

“I know … I know it is.” A hairsbreadth away, it was impossible not to pick up the scent of gun powder and clean sweat. God, please. But pushing back, Chuck leaned on the car door to find an ounce of space. “Everything in my life is a fake. I wanted something … real.” 

“I’m not your Christmas leftovers, kid.”

Was that … had he just implied that …?

Chuck heard that your life passed before your eyes at the brink of death. But apparently, when the heart was threatened on the brink of something else, every moment with that person flashed through the mind. Like now. When Casey looked at him with implacable eyes.

“I know that. God, do I know that.” The dam had opened – and Casey was the one who had pulled the first stone from the wall. So Chuck jumped in and swam. “I know you’ve … felt something the past few days. Where the cover was blurry. A little out of focus. But … I didn’t mind.”

The familiar twinge in Casey’s jaw made the kid recoil, wondering if he was going to be tossed down on his ass in about two seconds flat for getting it out there. But no, Casey drew back, eyes drifted to his mouth just briefly, and then he gave him a hard stare. 

Well, this was good news. After that spiel, Chuck was relieved that after five hammering heartbeats, Casey hadn’t knocked him on his ass for saying it. You felt it too, damn you.

“You’re in love with the blonde.”

This was about Sarah Walker? Casey knew too well what had happened. Does he have to be a bastard and make him say it? “That’s done.” Chuck shook his head and started to reach out a hand, but let it drop. “After Jill ….”

“She booted your skinny ass to the curb.”

“Yes. Wait, no. Are you fuc – kidding me? That could’ve happened only if it was real in the first place,” Chuck argued. “Okay, yes. All of the bruises in our friendship are my fault. Do we really have to rehash this right now? Because I thought this was about … what’s happening here. With us.” 

“Us.” Casey let loose a curse or two under his breath. His lips tightened and he looked away. “Wouldn’t this be a swell surprise for your sister? A month ago she had you married in the suburbs with Blondie. Raising two point five kids and a golden retriever.”

“That’s done.”

“Are you saying this would put a shiny spin on her happy-ass world? That she wouldn’t be surprised? Or better yet, disappointed in you? ‘Cause I gotta tell you kid, the first time they –”

“She won’t.” Chuck felt his grip on the door handle tighten. Bracing himself was the only way to say it. “I’m telling you she won’t be surprised, all right?”

Casey inclined his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means the government knows almost everything about me.” Chuck stood a little taller and waved him off in a preemptive strike on the slight chance Casey would try to deny it. “But there are a few boxes in my closet that are packed in the back. And you know what? I want them to stay that way.”

Casey snorted at that. “There are no secrets, Intersect. Let me guess. Maybe you found out that men could make you get it up? Maybe Larkin gave you a passable blowjob in the back seat of his Honda Civic after you helped him pass advanced calculus?”

“I …. ” Chuck started, feeling a spurt of anger in his gut. “Bryce didn’t even own a Honda Civic –” 

“Nice deflection there, Intersect.”

“You –” So what if it had been in the bottom bunk in their dorm room, the class was linear algebra, and it was Chuck doing the giving that night but that son of a bitch for bringing it up now!

“Yeah. Thought so.” Casey met his eyes with a cold blue stare. He stepped back, lifted his hand and cupped the butt of the gun, mechanically and smooth. Got off three shots before Chuck could balk. “Like I need another reason to hate that little mother fuck –” 

“Hey! Christmas day, remember? You might want to tone it do –” 

“For Larkin, that was spitting pretty prayers compared to what I wanted to say.” Pop. Pop.

“And to answer your damn question, maybe what I found out was that I was curious,” Chuck shot back. The hell with holding it in.

“You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” 

Chuck winced. Idiot? Again and again with the put downs and let downs. He could handle being funny, a little self-deprecating, but at that moment, pessimism flooded him up to his neck. 

This was a huge mistake.

Obviously, Casey had not picked up on the same simple underlying nuances. The night at the club. The warm touches and kisses that felt real.

“That’s it. I’m done. Glad we had this talk.” A little bit of courage fueled the kid to push himself off the car. Glaring, he about-faced in the direction of the door, ready to stroll away, not even looking at him. “I’m leaving. You can just finish your little game here and I’ll get –” 

He’d never get the chance to finish the rest. A wide arm shot out and grabbed his shoulder, hand biting into the flesh through his coat. Firmly, Casey settled him back against the car. 

“Back off, Major.” Okay, it was a known entity that his handler’s communication skills were unpolished – that was a polite assessment – but Chuck gave him a stubborn glare for the manhandling anyway. He waited and jerked his arm, sudden enough to make him break his grip.

Casey grunted, amused with his show of defiance. Before Chuck could tell him to kindly get his ass out of the way, the agent moved his stance, boxing him in with his feet. 

“You can stay.”

“Oh, really? Well, geez. Thanks.” Chuck laid on the sarcasm thick because it needed to penetrate through what had to be six inches of granite. 

Brushing him off with a shrug, Casey stared at him for an eternity. In his hand, he fiddled with the watch and finally slipped it into his pocket. “Answer this.”

“Maybe.” The ‘go to hell’ was right there and he was sure Casey heard it. 

“Heh.” Message received. His eyes lingered on the kid’s face, and then traveled past his shoulder. His face relaxed except for the corner of his mouth. “Did Mother talk to you before you left the house? Do anything unusual?”

“Wh-what?” Chuck just shook his head. “This is cra –” He started to give him the slip, but no dice, thanks to Casey’s long body, blocking his path. 

“You m-may not realize this, but you’re invading my space.”

Casey chuckled. And didn’t budge.

Seeing that he wasn’t going to let him squirm away, the kid pasted on a scowl. “Your Mother? What does that have to do with anything?”

“A tap on your shoulder. Touched your head?”

“Are you serious? I don’t ….” Chuck, feeling the need to make sense of this infeasible conversation, decided just to answer him. “Yes.” He bit his lip while he thought about it for a second. “She did that thing with her hand – on my hair – and told me to make sure you came in to get cleaned up before dinner.”

“God, you are a sucker.” Casey began to slant forward, causing Chuck to jolt when his upper body was pressed to his. 

“What … what are you talking about?” He glowered, ruffled up by the fact that Casey seemed to be playing with him. “You know what, don’t answer that. But I’m asking you to get out of my way.” 

“Don’t move.” It wasn’t until Chuck felt a bewildering tug on his hair that he realized Casey was untangling something back there, mashed into his curls.

“Ow! Ah, what are you doing?” Swatting at his hand, the kid tried to sidestep, but that was useless. When John Casey had zeroed in on a target, he damn well was going to get it. “Gentle … gentle,” Chuck said under his breath.

“This.” The press of his body was gone. Casey straightened and twirled the object in his fingers in front of Chuck’s eyes. “See? Idiot. That’s what I meant. She got you and you didn’t even know it.” 

Chuck furrowed his brows, focusing on it. “A … bow?” The folded and crimped red ribbon had to have been taken from one of the presents under the tree. “Oh. I thought you were … when you said …. Why would she do that?”

Casey tossed it lightly on the hood of the car. “Her idea of being funny,” he replied mildly.

With Casey standing this close, it was hard to think. He needed distance. Uneasily, Chuck started to fold his arms over his chest, but when there wasn’t enough room, he scooted back and rested his hands on the car. “Glad I could entertain your family this week.”

“Not what she meant, kid.” Casey stayed in front of him, jaw steeled. “She … told me,” he went on, something stirring under the surface, “that she thinks you would make a half-way decent present for someone.”

“Well, your mother’s approval. Your cover boyfriend is flattered.” Chuck tried to quell a bit of annoyance at the fakery behind it. “Tell her I said thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“Stop it,” Casey demanded in a rumble, arching forward.

Jesus, now what? “Stop? What am I doing?”

Before Chuck could register his movement, Casey had his hand clamped down on his hip, holding him against the car. “You’re trembling and it’s bugging the piss out of me. So, stop.”

“Sorry,” Chuck muttered, tensing at the feel of fingertips digging into his jeans. Another shifting of Casey’s boots, inching in, and now his face was close enough to feel hot breath teasing his cheek. “What … what else did she say?”

Casey took a deep breath. “She told me not to screw this up.” His grip curled in, his thumb sliding back and forth over Chuck’s hipbone, contemplating. He lifted a brow. “Not to be the gruff asshole that doesn’t need anyone in my life anymore,” he observed coolly. “She thinks … I need someone like you.”

Words that didn’t sink in. So, Chuck pulled off a slow nod, one that was more in the vein of dumbstruck than agreement. His mind was scrambling to come up with something more coherent. “Like me?”

“Yeah, but before you get all full of yourself, kid, she also said,” and he stopped to snort begrudgingly, “that you need someone like me.”

If his mind was scrambling before, well, this sent it to a screeching halt. Chuck glanced down at Casey’s hand, still latched onto his hip. “Well, I got that advice yesterday, so I guess they get bonus points for consistency.”

“You didn’t tell me that part.”

“I knew you’d be more pissed. The cover … their excitement over this….” At this, he signaled his hand in the very small space that remained between them. “Thinking that you’ll be happy.”

Casey’s stare didn’t waver from his face. Two warm fingers slid from the hold on his jeans, up under his shirt, finding bare skin. “A few minutes ago,” and he gave him a stroke, smooth pad of his finger, “You said you were curious.”

Chuck swallowed and tensed again. “I already told you everything that’s pertinent for a government agent to know abo –”

“What else,” Casey broke in, his voice smoothing out, “are you curious about?”

“What … else?”

“Yeah, you heard me.” Casey took the extra step, and now their hips were brushing together.

Well, if this was one of those stark points of time that called for brutal honesty, then Christmas Day in Mother’s garage would be the place. Chuck sucked in his stomach, waiting for the gut punch if he had totally miscalculated what was happening here, if Casey was only stringing him along like a giant sleek cat with a mouse.

“You.” He faltered, then found his resolve. “I was curious about you. Happy now? And for the record, if you’re going to hit me, can you stay away from the face? I know it’s not pretty or anything, but I don’t think scars would go with the nerd personae that I’ve spent years perfecting.”

Casey seemed to freeze. Pushing a thought away, he shook his head and turned back to the target. “Not gonna hit you,” he answered quietly.

“Thank you, God,” Chuck said, looking down at his wet shoes. A second later, the kid realized he may have relaxed too soon. Had he pushed him too far? Because while he was staring blankly at his laces, Casey used his grip just below Chuck’s waist to give him a slight push, flattening his backside to the door.

Oh, whoa. Not that this was a secret, but Casey was a strong son of a bitch. 

“Stay there,” he ordered and dropped his hand to his side. 

“Wasn’t planning on leaving,” Chuck replied, a little rankled by the brusque order. Could he be more vague? But he stayed put, watching the agent move to the workbench and empty the bullets from the Colt. If that wasn’t enough to fluster the kid, he turned without even looking at him and strode towards the door.

The damn door. He’s leaving? Who the hell was he to make demands and then walk out the door? 

"Wait a minute." Jerking his head, Chuck pushed himself off the car door and stood straight. "Where're you going?"

Instead of an answer, Casey put his hand on the knob, seemed to fiddle with it for just a second or two. Then he turned and stuck his thumb in the front pocket of his jeans and his eyes cut in his direction. In the faint light, they reminded Chuck of an icy haze, moonlight on the mid-winter snow. 

“You moved.” Casey nodded at him and pointed his chin at the car.

“I moved …? Is that what you …?” Was he kidding? Hold on, the Major is not much of a kidder. 

Proving the theory, Casey leveled an intent stare. “Yeah. You heard me.” 

“Okaaay, then.” Chuck backed up a few steps. “We’ll play it your way. For now.”

“Heh. Good thinking, sport.” Casey took his sweet-ass time strolling up to him, a speculative flicker in his eyes. A few paces and he positioned his body in front of the kid. Very close. A sudden sense of heat hit him; the proximity caused his breath to stutter, enough to make him back up and feel the press against the door. 

For the longest time, he held him there, not moving. Chuck forced himself not to fidget with his fingers, or tremble like an idiot, or a million other things that would screw this up because it all had the potential to go horribly wrong ….

“You were … curious, huh?” Casey asked, shifting on his feet just a fraction. When Chuck only rubbed his scalp and looked up at the rafters, the agent wrapped a hand the size of a catcher’s mitt around his wrist, warm palm to skin, and tugged firmly. “I thought the blonde had your brain scattered.”

The kid bristled. None of this made sense, but he had his dignity to defend. Every tendon flexed, and feeling a second wind, he pulled his arm free. “I thought you hated me. I had no idea that you, well, –”

“Didn’t hate you.” 

Chuck raised a brow at him. “I thought that maybe we would try something new. That we we’re trying to be truthful.”

“Okay, in the beginning, yeah,” Casey growled. There was nowhere else to go when the man leaned into him. It was a little clumsy since his boots had to straddle Chuck’s shoes, close enough to feel the brush of his knees against his jeans. “Maybe I hated you … for awhile.” Right there. Chuck felt something heated touching him, and he slanted a look down to see Casey’s hand closed on his waist, long fingers stretched on his shirt. “And you can still be pesky as hell,” he observed, tucking a thumb in a belt loop. “Since we’re being honest and all.”

“If we’re being honest – and I’ll probably die in an incredibly scary and spectacular way if you were only kidding about the honesty – you can be a stubborn bully sometimes.”

Casey squinted at him. Then, he laughed. “Had to keep your scrawny butt in line, Bartowski,” he told him, keeping his voice firm. At the same time, his thumb stroked in a small spot over his middle, sweeping side to side. “The way you refuse to follow orders.”

If this was flirting, it would have to go on record as the scariest or weirdest experience Chuck had in that department. Well, not that there were many to compare to. 

But … oh. Another graze with the pad of his thumb at his lower belly …. Yeah. It was staunchly sexy too. Wait. What did he just say?

“Orders?” Chuck lifted his chin. “You two need to give me some credit once in awhile. That in some scenarios, applying my judgment – me, not the Intersect – can get the job done.” 

Casey mulled it over. “Point. But, you’re forgetting something, kid.” Maybe he was doing this to make the Intersect go haywire, because while he spoke, his large hand drifted up his ribcage, tracked a path over the forearm that Chuck had stubbornly folded in front of him. 

“L-like what?”

“There are times when you need to just shut your trap, listen, and do what we say so that we can do our damn jobs.” Chuck flushed and looked towards the door, away from the agent’s scrutiny. He began to lift his hand to push through his locks, but Casey caught it with his other fist to force an answer. “Well, Intersect?”

“Fine.” The kid closed his eyes, resigned. “Sometimes, my plans don’t … quite … work out the way I had intended. So, point. And there you have it, a compromise.”

Casey seemed satisfied. He released his hand. “Good. I won’t let you forget it.”

“That still doesn’t address our other dilemma.” Dilemma was probably not the term he needed, but hell. Casey’s hips were pressed to his, thighs aligned, rubbing along the rough texture of his jeans, and large hands were on his waist – 

“What dilemma?”

“That … that I had to almost walk out of here to get you to … well, do this.” He squared his shoulders a bit. “At night, it’s the same. Do you know when you hold on tighter?”

“Do you know when you should shut the hell –”

“I’ll tell you. It’s when I tried to move away because I thought –” Chuck groaned at the frustration, being giving an expanse of words at birth but not finding the right ones. “This whole experience has been nuts. Your family, your life … the cover hasn’t been easy, but some parts of it, I liked. A lot. There, I said it. I didn’t mind sleeping with you, okay? It was actually nice in a way –”

“Bartowski, maybe you should –”

“Oh, no.” Chuck splayed a palm on his polo and shoved. Hello. Not only was that solid muscle under his hand, but Casey didn’t even have the decency to pretend to back up a foot. “Alrighty, then. You can stay there, I guess. Anyway, this is cathartic, and God knows, if I wait for you to open up … pfft.“ He forced a laugh. “Funny. All this time, I thought you wanted to kick my ass, so forgive me if I’m a little –”

“– had other plans for that part of your anatomy –”

“– rattled by the touching and kissing, because at times, it didn’t feel like it was for the cov – what now?” After hearing himself suck in a puff of air, Chuck remembered to close his jaw. What he really wanted to do was raise his pinky and clean out his ears, thinking he had heard something that should’ve made him blush ferociously. 

But, no, he was too busy staring.

“Do you ever pay attention, kid?” Casey grumbled, bringing his hand out of his jean’s pocket to cover Chuck’s hip, pinning him back. With his other hand, he trailed down his stomach, and then under the hem of his shirt until smooth fingers were tucked over the top of the waistband, bare skin to bare skin. Swished over it a few times. “What the hell have I been trying to tell you?”

“Uh, truthfully? I haven’t a freaking clue,” Chuck managed, licking his bottom lip. Defiance had left him. He was being pulled beneath the blue avalanche of intensity in his eyes. “But … officially, you have my attention.”

“Good.” Casey nodded, moved into him, chest to chest. “I need you to listen.”

“Y-yeah?”

“If we’re gonna do this … pursue more than a cover.” The stroking hand at this waist was slow and steady, but Casey pulled it back just long enough to tug the watch out of his front pocket. “There are going to be a new set of … ground rules.”

“Ground rules? You mean … like the ones ... when we got here?”

“Yeah. Got a problem with that?”

"Are you – problem?" Taking a chance, he slid a hand up Casey’s neck, lightly touching, finding his way. “I have a feeling that being your boyfriend would be more complicated than being your cover boyfriend.”

Casey twirled the watch on one finger, unfazed by the attempt at humor. Round it went – but Chuck would bet his own life he wasn’t going to drop it. “So?” Casey arched a brow at him, waiting. 

“God,” the kid mumbled. “You are serious about this, aren’t you?” For an answer, Casey shrugged, but the grip on his middle was unbending. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Chuck heaved a sigh. “All right. Ground rules? Let’s hear it.”

“Wednesdays.”

“Oh. Am I … supposed to guess what this mea –”

“I go out with my Marine buddies. We drink, we shoot, we smoke big ass cigars. The smell gets in my clothes. I get home late. You got a problem with any of that, Bartowski?”

Chuck blinked, waiting for Casey to crack a smile. He didn’t. “I … see.” Chuck had to turn his head to the side to cough politely. “I … suppose if push came to shove, I could move game and video night with Morgan to Wednesdays.”

“Yeah. See how this works, kid? Next one.”

“Wait. There are more?” 

“I said rules. As in plural. Didn’t they teach you that means more than one in that panty-waist liberal cesspool of higher education you got kicked out of?”

“Whoa. So many insults in one succinct package I hardly know where to – huh.” 

Holy hell … he’s doing … that flirting thing again.

“Well?”

“At least I didn’t hear anything about waxing your car?” 

Casey tilted his head, waiting.

“Okay ….” Chuck said, drawing it out. He decided to test the waters again by running his fingers down Casey’s forearm; the light dusting of hair tickled along his palm. And Casey allowed it, not moving, letting him feel the terrain of contoured muscle under his skin. Nice. “I’d like nothing more than to know what John Casey considers the basic tenets of a sound relationship.” Chuck leaned forward, caught the hand holding the watch and smiled. “Please. Continue.”

Casey rolled his eyes while his fingers, tucked over his belt, brushed his skin. “I like to keep the place neat. Orderly. Is that an issue?” 

“I’ve noticed.” Based upon the hard look, that wasn’t the answer Casey was waiting for. “Okay, agreed. Sheesh. Yes, I know I could put a little more effort into keeping my things out of the way, but I don’t see why –”

“Glad to hear it. Next rule.”

“Wow. Another?” With each question, Casey moved in closer, making his heart ram in his chest. “This isn’t exactly how I ever envisioned –”

“I like to watch hockey.”

“H-hockey?” Chuck’s forehead creased. “You mean, the guys with the little –?” To demonstrate, Chuck brought up his hand and flicked his fingers as if they were pushing a puck in the air.

Until a large meat hook flew up and clamped down around his fingers. “God, Bartowski. Do you have to be such a nerd? Never do that again. Especially when you’re talking about hockey.”

Pulling his hand away, Chuck caught the glint of humor hiding way in the back behind Casey’s eyes. “I’ll try to remember that. So, hockey? Well.” Chuck puckered his lips in thought, trying not to smile. “You do get a fair employee discount on televisions, right? Have you ever thought about getting another?”

“Ever think about watching a game once in a while?”

“Point, Major. What else do you have?”

The strength in the grip on his waist flexed. “I don’t sleep at your sister’s place. Ever. When we sleep together, it’s at my place. Got that?”

“Wha –?” It took Chuck a second or two to speak. Choking on nothing but air could do that to a man. “Since … since when am I sleeping at your place? A minute ago we were going to ‘pursue more than a cover’, and just at the drop of a hat, I’m sleeping at your place?” 

A slow grin eased its way over Casey’s face, even as his eyes darkened. Stretching into him, Chuck felt a jolt when he suddenly brushed his lips to his ear. “Yeah … you’ll be in my bed.” Said confidently, that cocky assurance of his that could smother opponents with a look. And when he said it, he ran one of the fingers in his belt over his stomach to emphasize his position on the matter. “You’ll want to be there,” he breathed, his voice a husky growl. “Make you forget all about vanilla-flavored Blondie wet dreams.”

“Um,” Chuck managed, belying his Stanford-educated mind. A hundred images were rocketing through his brain like a mortar blast of artillery. He had to clear his throat to talk. “I was … not expecting. Wow. That was specific.” But Chuck didn’t argue. It was a moot point. “Wh-what else? Because I’m assuming you’re not done.”

Casey averted his eyes to the crate just for a fleeting look. “You’ll have to come back here,” he said, point blank. “I need to get home more often than, let’s say, a gnat’s ass away from never. “

“I think I can handle that. I mean, I do have the coat now, remember?” Chuck tipped his head towards the hook where he had left it, giving him a small smile. “Wait, if we’re negotiating, will there be pot roast again?”

“I think we can work out a deal, Bartowski,” he replied. “Mother seems to have taken a liking to you.”

“Really. I hadn’t noticed.”

“Yeah, yeah. Funny. Get that goddamn blinding grin off your face.”

Chuck gave him one more helping of the lop-sided high beam before toning it down. “Is … is there more?”

“No.” 

“This … would be good news, then,” Chuck noted, still sounding confused. In a world where sleeping with your government-issued handler was bartered in the same breath with Mother’s pot roast, the rules appeared overly simplistic. At least, compared to being the Intersect-wielding fake boyfriend of a trained assassin. Because, right now, they were just two guys, leaning against a car in an old barn; leaning on each other, filling the gap between them. 

“We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

Chuck met him eye-to-eye. “Agreed. Though, I have to say, I’m mostly relieved, but slightly terrified as to some of the particulars of this arrangement.” 

“Heh.” The sound was amused and exasperated, mingled into one. “Don’t be.”

Chuck’s hand almost came up to thread through his waves, that nervous gesture – save for the fact that he thought there might be a better place to drop it. The touches between them the past few days had been easy, but muddled. Even the night at the bar, resting on Casey’s chest, the line was not definitive. And with his head spinning like the snow on the wind, it was still a blur even now after those tentative touches a minute ago. This was one distinction he had to remedy before his courage washed out of him. 

“You know, I’d like to … ah ….” Idiot. Moron. Just do it. “This.” He brought one hand down to swipe over his jeans – Casey would tease him about his sweaty hands – and he moved to put the heat of his palm on Casey’s hip. His hand found a place that was hard, comfortable, and he curled his fingers and hung on. Real. Chuck stifled a smile. “Is this okay?”

“For now,” Casey replied.

“What do you – oh. Oh,” he stumbled out when the meaning behind the sly blue eyes hit him. “Hah. But, sorry, no. Not under your Mother’s roof and even though her detached garage slash barn may not be considered under her roof per se, I don’t think it would be – not that I wouldn’t otherwise be open to –”

“God, Bartowski, please just shut up.” 

“Hmm?” Chuck saw his lip twitch. “Were you just kidding about the – you know.”

Casey scrubbed a hand over his cheek. “Yeah, but not about the shutting up part.”

“Okay. For now.” 

Casey smiled. “You’re a pain the ass, you know that?” 

“’Cause you’re not?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh.” Chuck hesitated, because there was no answer to that. This particular blush probably went down to his chest hair. The heat balled up a little lower.

Casey just let out a self-conscious chuckle. “Figures that would work.”

“Um, wait. I need to –” Hell, he had to collect his thoughts. He was forgetting frontwards and backwards and his place in the universe with Casey standing over him, settled against him. 

“Spit it out, Bartowski.”

“We’re not done.” Chuck let his hand drop, and Casey-sized distraction aside, he swayed back against the door to get some breathing room. “I have a ground rule, too.”

Casey’s fingers at his waist had idly coasted over his skin, but the touch stilled on him. Any teasing light in his eyes firmed a bit. “What is it?”

“It’s real, Casey. If we do this, it’s not a fake cover. I’m sick of pretending that I have something I don’t.” When a notion hit him, Chuck brought up his arms and folded them over his chest. “Oh, and you keep the watch. No arguments.” 

“Jesus.” Casey bent in and brushed his knuckles with the hand that wasn’t currently tucked in the top of his jeans. Considering it. “It’ll be real, but,” he cut in when Chuck’s mouth opened, fending off the barrage of questions, “I’ll hang onto the watch. If this doesn’t work, you’re getting it back.” 

“No, that’s not how it works. When I give something away, I mean it –”

“Not up for negotiation, sport.”

Chuck gave him a rebellious look, but there was no backing down in Casey’s stance. “Fine. You win. If this doesn’t work, I’ll take the watch back.”

“And don’t kid yourself. This is gonna be complicated.”

“Complicated? Really. I’m Chuck Bartowski, Nerd Herder and Human Intersect, working at a Buy More and oh, by the way, I have two government handlers and spy protectors.” He lifted a brow. “I think I’ve got the whole complicated concept by now, big guy.”

“Point. Here’s another: Beckman can’t know.”

Frowning at him, the kid drew in a breath. Complicated, but still real. “As much as I hate the sneaking and lying, you’re right.” He scanned Casey’s face, clenched in with the fingers resting on his hip. “I get it. Doesn’t mean I have to like it but, that brings up something else complicated. What about Sarah?”

“She’s blonde, not blind.” Casey shrugged. “She’ll know.”

“Then how do you know she won’t –”

“Walker will keep her mouth shut.” His eyes flicked down, and the way they lingered over Chuck’s chest, then further down to the hand clasped on his shirt gave him a tightening his in belly. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Why would you do that?”

Casey grunted, non-committal. But one of his hands slid in a warm drag around his waist, behind him … then, lower. Jesus. Being touched by him like this was way different than how he had imagined. Way better. Casey squeezed a cheek, convenient now that his hand was resting back there, just enough to make sure he was paying attention. “Large, intimidating, but comfortable, eh?” 

The kid half-smiled. “That sounds … well, large and intimidating can be a challenge.”

“A nerdy and skinny-as-hell brainiac can be just as challenging. Trust me on that one.” 

“Mother doesn’t seem to mind.” Chuck waggled his eyebrows. “I think Maggie’s warming up to me, too.”

“Mother and big sister’s approvals.” Casey rolled his eyes, but just as quick, a pinch on his ass sent his hips lurching forward, smack into the front of Casey pants – it wasn’t hard, just surprising, that’s all, shoving him as close as pages in a book and that was part of his plan …. 

But God, that hard body felt so good against his.

“Later, kid.” Casey winked as if reading his mind.

“Ah. S-sorry. I didn’t mean to –” Chuck’s voice halted when Casey replied by grazing his lips lightly over his collarbone, then sucking along the hollow. This time, the kid didn’t need to be told to close his eyes. “Oh. That’s uh ….” Chuck dug his fingers into his bicep and he let out a surprised huff at the caress of lips at his nape. “God, Casey….”

“Easy there, tiger.” A suggestive bump of his hip. “Ma’s roof, remember?”

His eyes sprung open, face reddened. “I was just –” and shifting back, he felt their knees knock together awkwardly. “Sorry, again,” Chuck murmured. Finesse wasn’t in his tool box. Casey didn’t seem to mind, though. He just snickered softly and shrugged at him. Face it. This would take time and practice to figure out how their bodies – long weird angles and hard muscle – would fit together, work together. But maybe … the learning curve would be worth it.

“We should get inside,” Casey said after a long minute. “God knows, they’ll come looking.” It felt too hard to pull apart, but he started to move away.

“Wait, wait.” Chuck stopped him, bringing up a hand to snatch the front of Casey’s polo. “Something occurred to me. I don’t think I’ve ever had a non-cover kiss. I wonder if there’s a … difference?”

Casey just gave him a poker-faced look. “That supposed to be subtle, Bartowski?”

“Uh, no. In the view of the fact that you were getting ready to walk, I had to forego subtlety for the more direct approach.”

“Direct?” The distance that had opened up between them closed again. Casey’s eyes fixed on his face. “Is that the way its gonna be with you, kid?”

“Only if it works?” Chuck gave him a crooked grin. “Because, I gotta tell you, I wouldn’t mind finding out the answer.”

The look of eyes that had seen too much made Chuck forget the Intersect, the warm barn where they stood, erased his apprehension of being far from home on Christmas. Reaching up, Casey brushed his temple with this thumb. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into….”

“Not exactly the reaction I was going for, but I – oh.” Words drew to a halt when Casey intervened by dropping the hand at his temple to his jaw, guiding his face up. Brown eyes watched him, letting him turn his chin as he held his breath. Waiting for the heated tingling, the one he felt under the mistletoe. At the club. 

“Close your eyes, Bartowski,” Casey ordered, low, and pulling him forward, he wasted no time fitting his lips over his, holding him in place with the hand at his jaw. He met his mouth, hauling him in for a firm, hot kiss; maybe a little rough, but Chuck had enough muscle to push back when he needed to. Not that he did. 

Here in the dimly lit garage, with no one watching, it was only intimate – yet revealing. The way Casey poured himself into it with the movement of his mouth, a swipe of the tip of his tongue. A slow possession of Chuck’s senses, making him aware of every touch on his side, around his middle, to his back.

This was real. This was now. 

He decided then and there, that he could get used to kisses that tasted of Christmas morning peppermint and freshly brewed coffee. Wanted more of them. It was baffling – too soon – when Casey pulled his head back, mouth brushing his cheek, fingers reflexively cinching into his back. But dropping his head, lips gently caressed the hollow of his throat. 

Oh, shit, that was sexual, incredible …. Do that again ….

“… Casey … that’s …–”

“Boys?” The door rattled on his its hinges, almost drowning out Maggie’s inquisitive voice. “Are you in there?”

“Oh, crap.” Chuck almost tripped against Casey’s boot. His hands flew up, attempting to budge him backwards. “It’s your sister!”

“Captain Obvious to the rescue.” Casey didn’t move an inch. Cradling the side of Chuck’s neck, he kept the pressure of his body, every long perfect inch, aligned to his. Laying a kiss on the pulse of his neck, he lifted his head and warm lips were gone. Casey glanced towards the door. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Relax, Bartowski.”

“Relax? How can I relax?” Chuck repeated, attempting to keep his voice down. “She’s going to find us like this!”

A slight smile curved on Casey’s lips. “Dad always had a lock for the garage,” he let on, hooking a hand on the back of Chuck’s jeans to hold him there. “I bolted it a few minutes ago.”

“A lock? That’s what you were doing when I thought you were leaving –?”

“Wasn’t thinking of leaving, kid.” That was all he said. In words, anyway. Casey anchored his body against Chuck and kissed him in a hard, forceful way that made his toes curl, made him forget about the bitter cold on the other side of the walls. He couldn’t help it, he tensed and pressed his lips in a little harder, taking another candy cane-flavored kiss that spread like fire until he was trembling again. If Casey noticed the shiver, he didn’t complain about it this time.

It was then Chuck came to a decision. 

Whatever it took, no matter how complicated, for the man he was holding onto … one who could kiss like that? 

Well, Chuck was going to make damn certain that Casey would be keeping his dad’s watch.

-x-End Meet the Kin- a Twisted Tale of Christmas-x-

Art work! Yay! When I originally posted this on LiveJournal, a kind and talented reader gifted me with artwork to accompany this chapter. If you'd like to take a look, it's here, http://skyesurfer12.livejournal.com/34799.html

(You'll need to copy and paste into your browser since I don't think the links work from here....)

I want to say thank you so much for the comments and kudos! If you're so inclined, there are other Chuck/Casey fics in my skyesurfer12 jounal on lj that I am slowly cross posting here. Thank you and Merry Christmas!

-skye


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